


A Fire Shall Be Woken

by Aini_NuFire



Series: Feathers and Flames [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Castiel, BAMF Winchesters, Castiel Has Stolen Grace, Drama, Dying Castiel, Episode: s10e17 Inside Man, F/M, Flashbacks, Forgotten Past, Gen, Hurt Castiel, Memory Alteration, Recovered Memories, Season/Series 10, Slow Build, Worried Winchesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-23 00:12:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8306435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: Sequel to From the Ashes. Castiel’s grace is fading, and a spell to recover the memories Naomi erased backfires, leaving him in a coma. Now the Winchesters and a new ally have to find a way to restore Cas’s grace before he fades away completely.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working late today, so we're gonna get an early upload to kick off this story. *g* For anyone just joining, this is the sequel to the fic I recently finished posting, From the Ashes, and picks up right where it left off.
> 
> Disclaimer: Supernatural still isn't mine. Thanks to 29Pieces for beta reading!

 

Castiel looked over the spell ingredients on the table for the fifth time. Nervous anticipation was putting him on edge, though he didn't fully understand why. With his stolen grace beginning to burn out, there was risk to his physical well-being by casting this, but that hardly registered as a concern for him.

No, what he was about to attempt—recovering the memories Naomi had wiped from his head—was a long-shot at best. The thing that confounded Castiel, though, was that the thought of failing, of never getting those memories back, frightened him just as much as the notion that he may succeed. What if he didn't like what he found? There were some memories he was desperate to uncover, to understand not only himself but the woman who had given everything for him after only knowing each other for a few days.

But that was the point of this—Castiel had met Ryn before, ages ago. Before Naomi had carved out his mind and taken all his knowledge of that time. Ryn had told him they'd been friends, but Castiel sensed there was more to it. If only he'd gotten the chance to ask her, but she had died removing the Mark of Cain from Dean. For days they had waited with her ashes set just outside the bunker on the off-chance the Alpha phoenix would rise again. She hadn't.

Which meant if Castiel wanted answers—and he did—he would have to go about getting them this way. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves.

"You okay?" Sam asked, standing across the table from him. "Cas, if you're not up for this…"

He shook his head. "No, it's not that, it's just…" Castiel's stomach churned. "I already know some pieces. Ryn said we met in Ancient Egypt."

Sam furrowed his brow. "But I thought you didn't come down to earth until…uh, right, never mind." He gave Castiel a sheepish look.

Castiel gripped the edges of the table, his knuckles whitening. "Naomi…she told me I was there." He ducked his gaze. "You know of the Ten Plagues, Sam?"

"Uh, yeah. Nile turned to blood, frogs, boils, and…oh." His voice dropped an octave. " _Oh_."

"I've done many horrible things," Castiel said, shame making his face hot. He let out a shuddering breath. "You and Ryn insisted that I'm… _good_. But the truth is…far more muddied than that." Castiel finally lifted his head, but he didn't find the expected disgust and revulsion on Sam's face, only pain and grief. "I want to remember her," he added. "But I know I probably won't like what I find."

Sam's gaze turned inwardly thoughtful. "Yeah, yeah the truth isn't so clean, is it? You know, I felt the same when I found out I'd been running around soulless for a year. I wanted to know what I'd done, even though it terrified me."

"That's not the same. You can't be blamed for what you did then," Castiel argued.

"Like you can be blamed for what you did after being brainwashed?" Sam shook his head. "Look, Cas, we've all done bad things thinking they were right. And we've both done things under the influence of forces much stronger than us. It doesn't change who we are, deep down." He stepped around the table to clap Castiel on the shoulder. "Maybe the truth will be hard, but maybe it's not even what you think." Sam sighed heavily. "Whatever happened, man, you're still family. That won't change. And maybe…maybe you'll find some peace in all this."

Peace before he died. That was all Castiel could hope for. Dean may have stubbornly refused to give up looking for a way to fix his grace, but Castiel knew there was no solution to that problem.

Speaking of said Winchester, Dean emerged from the back hallway then. "Ready?" he asked.

"Yes." Castiel gathered up what ingredients he could and Sam got the rest.

Dean's jaw looked tight; he was still unhappy about this arrangement. But he nevertheless turned to lead the way down the corridor. "Got your room all situated."

Castiel canted his head. "My room?" He'd requested the use of _a_ bedroom…

Dean paused to half turn and face him, tone softening with a hint of remorse. "Yeah, Cas, your room."

Speechless, Castiel followed Dean into one of the Men of Letters bedrooms set between Dean's and Sam's own quarters. Like the others, the furniture was sparse, simple, and functional: a bed in the middle of the room, a writing desk to the left, and a dresser on the right next to a small closet.

Dean ran a hand over his hair, suddenly appearing uncomfortable. "It could use a personal touch. I, uh, guess I just didn't know what you'd like."

Castiel truly didn't know what to make of this. He'd never had his own space before. Even when he'd called Heaven home, he'd found tranquility in someone else's personal heaven. This…was oddly touching.

"I don't really have anything," he said. The clothes on his back, which he was wearing. His angel blade, which he was wearing.

Dean's mouth tightened at that, but then he shrugged. "Maybe a picture of Claire or something. We can talk about it after we get your grace squared away."

Castiel felt a pang in his chest. It was a nice gesture, but a promise that would never be fulfilled, like so many others before it. That was okay, though. Castiel had spent the past several years of his existence searching for…something. Home, a place to belong. He'd take the small measure he found here with the Winchesters.

Castiel went and deposited his armful of supplies on the desk. Sam added what he'd been carrying, and then Castiel began to mix the ingredients in a bowl. Once done, he took a deep breath and cast one last look at the Winchesters, who stood tensely near the dresser.

Castiel forced his hands flat upon the desk, and started the incantation. The components in the bowl began to fizzle and glow. Castiel recited the last line, and watched as two tendrils of light rose up to swirl in concentric circles around his head. He held his breath, not sure what to expect. Would everything slam into him like when Metatron downloaded pop culture into his mind? Or would the lights continue to spin with no affect?

As the seconds ticked by, Castiel felt a pressure building behind his eyes, as though something was trying to break through. He let out a sharp gasp, but otherwise steeled himself to see this to the end. His head was throbbing now, all of his senses whittled down to a high-pitched whirring in his ears and a blinding haze filling his vision. The compression was becoming too much.

Castiel staggered back a step, the back of his legs hitting the foot of the bed. He distantly heard what sounded like Sam and Dean calling his name, but it was drowned out by the excruciating pulsing in his skull. He managed to look up at the swirling lights, only for the two spirals to suddenly plunge straight into his eyes with fiery fury, and everything Castiel knew exploded in a blazing supernova.

* * *

Dean threw his arm up to shield his face as the plasma roiling in the air erupted and speared down through Cas's eyes like forks of lightning. The energy winked out an instant later, and Dean heard the dull thud of a body hitting the floor.

"Cas!" He surged forward and dropped down to grip the angel's shoulders and roll him over. Cas's head lolled limply. Though his eyes were closed, Dean's heart stuttered at the rivulet of blood trickling from one eye.

"What the hell!" he snapped as Sam crouched down on the other side. His brother looked just as wide-eyed and freaked, but Dean's fear was getting the better of him in an explosive wave of anger. "What the hell, Sam?"

"I- I don't know." Sam put two fingers under Cas's jawline, and a second later his shoulders visibly sagged. "He's alive, Dean."

Well, that was something. A very _small_ consolation, though, because Cas was unconscious and bleeding from his eye just like when Naomi had been messing around in his head and controlling him. Dean's throat constricted at those memories, but he forced them down where they wouldn't distract him.

"Cas?" He lightly patted the angel's cheek. "Cas, come on."

They waited, but Cas didn't show any signs of waking.

"Let's get him on the bed," Sam suggested.

Right, this was why they'd decided to do the spell in a bedroom. Well, _this_ wasn't why, but they had anticipated Cas maybe needing to rest, or meditate or something.

Dean looped his arms under Cas's while Sam got his legs, and together they hefted him up and onto the mattress. Sam adjusted the pillow under his head, and then they just stood there, not knowing what to do. The blood was making Dean's stomach churn, so he drew out a bandana from his pocket and gently wiped the crimson tear tracks from Cas's face. Now Cas just looked like he was sleeping. Except it wasn't normal for angels to sleep in the first place.

"Maybe Cas was right," Sam said. "Those memories were just unreachable."

Dean clenched his fist. "So Cas just cast that draining spell for nothing." They never should have agreed to let him do this. Not that they'd really had a say in it, though. Cas was one stubborn son-of-a-bitch, and if he'd decided to do this stupid spell, he was gonna do it. At least he was safely here in the bunker now that it'd gone to shit, and not alone in some motel or backwoods area. The thought of _that_ was enough to twist Dean's guts even more.

"It wasn't for nothing, Dean," Sam said quietly, and with that soft tone, managed to deflate a good chunk of Dean's anger.

He knew he couldn't argue with that. Hell, if he'd been in Cas's position, he probably would have done the same.

_"Wait, is there more to your history with Cas than you're letting on?"_

_"Sometimes we keep things to ourselves to protect those we care about."_

Cas had a right to know—about his own past, about Ryn. But she had died before any of them could get those answers from her. All because of Dean.

He glanced down at his forearm, now blemish free. The raised scar of the Mark may have been gone, but the horror of its power still wrapped around Dean's chest like a vice. He'd felt remorse before, even while bearing the Mark, but without the broiling whispers of violence soothing those aches of conscience, Dean now felt nothing but a drowning cascade of guilt. So many were dead because of him, and not just by his hand, but by the consequences of this path he'd chosen.

_"The only reason I'm here is because Castiel asked. Even if he doesn't remember me from back then, I do remember."_

Dean knew what it meant to sacrifice yourself for someone you loved. He and Sam had done it for each other countless times—more than was healthy, really. But they were brothers, it was what they did. Ryn had risked herself for Cas. A phoenix for an angel. Dean had seen a lot in his life, but that…that left him with a humbled sense of awe.

His gaze shifted to his unconscious friend, Ryn's last words echoing in his mind.

_"Take care of Castiel."_

Yeah, Dean always did a bang-up job of that, didn't he? If Ryn knew half of their history, she probably would've refused to cure Dean at all. Maybe she would have just killed him. And maybe everyone would've been better off that way after all.

Sam cleared his throat, jolting Dean out of his morose black hole. "We should let him rest."

Dean managed a nod. "Yeah. And we need to start scouring this place for something to fix his grace."

They reluctantly left their friend to recoup and headed back out to the library where they started flipping through the catalog and pulling books off the shelves. But as the hours wore on, Dean was beginning to feel as hopeless as when they hadn't been able to find anything on curing him of the Mark. There wasn't a single mention or hint of an angel stealing another's grace. Cas seemed to have done something completely unprecedented with that, which actually shouldn't have surprised Dean. Cas had a knack for doing that kind of shit.

There were countless books still to go through, and it would take them weeks, maybe months to search everything. The thing that scared Dean, though, was he didn't know how much time they actually had. Cas wasn't exactly forthcoming and honest about his own condition on the best of days. Plus, the stupid bastard had accepted that he was going to die and wasn't even _interested_ in fighting it. It reminded Dean of Sam after the Trials all over again.

"Anything?" Sam spoke up.

"Nothin'." Dean roughly turned a page, crinkling the old, thin paper. Sam gave him a bitch-face for that, but didn't actually say anything. Dean's gaze drifted to his smooth forearm again, as it'd done periodically ever since the Mark had been removed. There were no more susurrations of murder and malice, but he _remembered_ the whispers.

"Uhh…" he started, pausing to clear his throat. "Cas is down for the count. If that spell took more out of his grace…" Dean shifted in his chair. "We could go out, find an angel—"

Sam's brows shot up. " _Dean_."

"He's dying, Sam!" Dean bit back his frustration, surprised that he was actually able to. With the Mark gone, he had control again. Or, as much control as he normally had when the people he cared about were on the line. Dean shook his head and dropped his head into his hands. This was just like with Sam, he _knew_ that. And look at how that turned out.

_But Sam's alive_.

His brother didn't say anything for a prolonged moment, and then when he finally did, it was with gentle but firm pointedness. "Cas would be able to tell."

Dean's heart sank. Yeah, and the angel would be pissed beyond measure. He might never forgive Dean, which Dean thought maybe he could live with if it meant Cas survived, but Cas would probably refuse any fix they found in the future, just to spite Dean.

"I know," he said in defeat. "It was a stupid idea, I just…"

"I know, Dean," Sam said softly. "I want to save him, too. We just…we gotta do it the right way, or it won't really be saving him." Sam hesitated. "How are you feeling, by the way?"

"Peachy."

"I meant with the Mark gone. Are you still feeling like a residual thing, or—"

"No, Sam, it's not that." Dean sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The Mark's completely gone. There's no lingering side effects. It's…kinda like when I came down from being a demon. I still remember how everything felt." He took small comfort in the knowledge that such memories would gradually fade, at least when he was awake. Nightmares were a whole other story, but he'd dealt with those forever, so nothing to cry over there.

Sam nodded, and turned his attention back to the book in front of him. Dean did the same, and they worked in silence save for the rustle of turning pages and clack of keyboards. Dean's stomach eventually growled, signaling it was getting late and past time for dinner.

He got up and rolled out the crick in his neck. "I'm gonna check on Cas." He'd been hoping the angel would wake up and come join them, but that obviously wasn't happening.

Sure enough, Cas was right where they'd left him. He hadn't even shifted on the bedcovers or rolled over. Dean went to the side of the bed and felt for a pulse. It was still there, but very slow. He frowned, and leaned over to pat the angel's cheek.

"Cas, buddy, you need to wake up now."

No response.

Dean's heart started thudding against his rib cage, and he smacked Cas a little harder. The angel's head lolled a fraction from the impact, but otherwise Cas didn't stir.

"Sam!" Dean dragged one of Cas's eyelids up to check his pupils. They were blown wide, but unresponsive to changes in light. At least there weren't any signs of blood pooling.

Sam came scrambling in a moment later. "What? Is he awake?"

Dean shook his head. "His pulse seems really slow."

Sam hurried over and checked for himself. He held Cas's wrist far longer than Dean had, probably counting over and over again, just to be sure. "Yeah, really slow. I mean, it's steady." He cast a nervous glance at the angel's face. "Is he responsive to anything?"

"No." Dean didn't want to say out loud that he'd hit Cas pretty hard—though not _that_ hard for an angel. He watched Sam pinch the back of Cas's hand, twice, also to no effect.

Sam reached up to rub the back of his neck, expression giving him away. Dean's chest constricted. Cas wasn't waking up.


	2. Chapter 2

 

_Castiel hovered behind some reeds on the river's edge, trying to stay as low and out of sight as possible._ He shouldn't have been this close to the human settlement, as his orders were to observe from above. But in the course of watching the people of Egypt and young Moses growing up in the house of Pharaoh, Castiel had become aware of one who did not belong—a phoenix was living among the humans, concealed it seemed, at least for the time being. But Castiel needed to ensure that the creature was not harboring some nefarious purpose, especially toward the young boy who would lead the fate of God's chosen people in the coming years.

And so Castiel secretly left his post and came down to earth, close enough that his true form would burn the eyes out of anyone who set their sight upon him. He needed to take great care for that not to happen. Thus, he was crouched down among the reeds covering the left bank of the Nile, waiting for the phoenix to come draw water as he had noted she did every day, just like the humans. She blended in rather well, but Castiel was not fooled. He would divine her purpose and, when it was necessary, neutralize her.

The opposite shore was crowded with women coming and going with their jugs. Children laughed and played along the bank, chasing each other or splashing in the water. A few mothers scolded their offspring, but in the hot weather, a handful didn't listen.

Finally, Castiel spotted his quarry. Her complexion was a shade lighter than the Egyptians, and she might have stood out in stark contrast against the darker skinned humans if she wasn't wearing a long-sleeve robe that hung down to her bare feet. A brown shawl swathed her hair and framed her delicate facial features. Her eyes were an unusual shade of amber that also distinguished her from the humans, though they seemed ignorant enough to not notice. This close, however, Castiel could see her for what she really was, and he nearly sucked in a gasp at the discovery that she was _the_ Alpha phoenix.

This was even more alarming. What would the spawn of Eve be doing hiding among the humans? Was she here for the human boy, Moses? Or something else?

Two children chasing each other up and down the shore veered toward the phoenix where she knelt at the water's edge, filling her jug. Castiel watched as the one in the lead suddenly tripped and went sprawling into the river with a splash that caught the phoenix all down one side. Castiel tensed, poised to reach for his blade on instinct, though he knew he could not intervene lest the sight of him harm the children he wanted to save.

He held his breath as the phoenix reached for the little girl…only to pick up the child and set her on her feet, the water lapping about her ankles. The phoenix braced the young one's shoulders and looked her up and down before tapping her lightly under the chin. Castiel caught a gleam in the creature's eyes then that set off alarms, yet still he could not act.

The phoenix dipped her hands in the water, and unexpectedly splashed the child's companion, who was standing dry on the riverbank. The girl who had tripped joined in, both she and the phoenix flinging water at the other youngling as she squealed and ran off. Their laughter drifted across the river, and Castiel was struck by how merry it was. He did not think a monster capable of such a pleasant, joyful sound.

Castiel was flummoxed by the interaction, and for a moment forgot to watch for evidence of sinister intent, and instead found himself simply observing this woman as she retrieved her overturned jug and began to fill it again. She seemed to be unhurried, and one by one the other women left, until the phoenix was the last on the shore.

She set her jug on the ground and moved up to a small mound, angling herself so that the damp side of her clothes was in the sun. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back as though listening to something pleasurable. So far she had not displayed a single predatory characteristic, but perhaps she was simply that skilled of a chameleon.

"Are you going to lurk there all day or say hello?" she finally spoke.

Castiel whipped his gaze around in search of who might have arrived without his noticing. But there was no one, just her and… He tucked himself into a tighter crouch, pressing low to the ground. There was no way she should have seen him.

The woman opened her eyes and looked pointedly at Castiel's hiding spot. "It's discourteous to spy on ladies, you know. And not very angelic."

His feathers ruffled indignantly. "What harm do you mean these people?" he demanded before he could think better of it. Castiel immediately bit his tongue, realizing he had given himself away. He would have preferred to gather more information first, but at least they were alone and he could attack without hindrance.

"Why do you presume I mean them any harm?" she countered.

Castiel rose a few inches, enough to reveal flickers of grace between the reeds that would look like reflections off the water, but not enough to fully expose himself. Yet. "You are the offspring of Eve. Her ilk desire nothing but harm to humans."

Her expression tightened. "Only a few years ago Pharaoh ordered every newborn Hebrew male to be thrown into the Nile. What possible destruction do you think I could wreak that could be more than what _humans_ enact upon each other?"

Castiel was taken aback, not only by her vehemence…but also the strange validity of her point. The death of all those children had been tragic, but his garrison had not received orders to intervene. And so he had watched the brutal drowning of countless infants.

Castiel gave himself a sharp shake. That did not negate the threat standing across the river from him. The phoenix was still staring his direction, eyes narrowed as though she could almost see through the reeds.

Castiel coiled his reflexes. He should strike now, smite her before she could disappear, or before she could bring harm to anyone in Egypt. And yet something inexplicably stayed his hand. What cause did he have to kill her? The fact that she was a monster? She had not done anything that he could see which warranted death. In fact, she had been…kind, to those children. Perhaps she did not mean anyone harm.

But she _was_ a monster; Castiel could not discount that.

"I will be watching," he warned. _With a beat of his wings, he flew away to return to his post._

* * *

Cas was in a coma. After an entire day of the angel showing no signs of waking, Dean and Sam had been forced to admit and accept it. And they had no idea how to help. Dean was searching for fix-its for Cas's grace, in case it was too weak for him to regain consciousness, while Sam was digging deeper into that memory retrieval spell to see if they could somehow counter it in case it was the cause of the angel's current condition.

Neither of them were coming up with anything, though. One thing in their favor was Cas at least wasn't going to waste away from lack of food and water, so they didn't have to seriously consider taking him to a hospital. Still, the entire situation frustrated Dean to no end.

Which was compounded by the fact that they'd run low on supplies, forcing him to take a break from his research and go out on a run. He didn't bother to be picky on the grocery shopping, though, grabbing the first frozen dinners off the racks that he found and not even taking the time to search for the best deals on coffee brands. Fuel was fuel, and the sooner he finished, the sooner he could get back to work. He didn't even search for Sam's preferred pre-made salads, but also just blindly grabbed several packages off the shelves. He didn't think his brother would bitch about it, given the circumstances.

But despite his need to hurry, Dean found himself obeying all the speed limits on the drive home. There was something about the purr of Baby's engine that always soothed his raw nerves. It felt a little like a betrayal, basking in the rumble of the Impala instead of gunning it back to the bunker to help his best friend, but at the same time, Dean needed a clear head in all this.

When he finally pulled up outside the bunker, he couldn't help but glance over toward where Cas had left Ryn's ashes under a tree, abandoned in a plain wooden box. They should probably give her a proper burial, but that was something Cas needed to be there for. Which meant they had to wake him up first. Still, they should bring Ryn inside, put her ashes somewhere safe…

Dean sighed heavily and exited the car. Leaving the groceries in the trunk, he made his way over to the tree line, only to pull up short when he realized the box was gone. Not only that, but there were scorch marks arching up the tree bark like charcoal flames. He scanned the ground frantically, but there wasn't a speck of ash aside from the charred grass in a circle where the box had been.

"What the hell…" Had Ryn come back to life? But then where was she? Dean started to turn in a full circle again when a puff of air billowed down from above, and a strident screech preceded huge wings thwacking Dean as they swooped down from the treetops.

He jerked back, tripping over a root and landing on his ass. He instinctively threw an arm up to shield his face, but the bird that had accosted him glided around to land on a branch above. Dean gaped at it. Its feathers were brilliant shades of red and orange, and it was as big as a frickin' peacock. Its tail feathers were just as long, too, spilling down from its perch like a curtain. Dean almost reached for his gun, because that thing was definitely not natural, but he stopped himself at the last second.

The bird angled a gleaming amber eye at him, and then screeched again.

Dean's jaw nearly fell open. " _Ryn_?"

The giant bird squawked and rustled its feathers, though Dean had no idea if that was supposed to be a confirmation or not. If this was her, why was she…a _bird_?

_A phoenix is a bird, dumbass_ , his mind helpfully supplied. _Not that I've seen_ , he shot back. Shit, this was too weird.

"Um…" he stammered, slowly getting to his feet and keeping his palms raised in an unthreatening gesture. What the heck was he supposed to do with this?

The bird— _Ryn_ —cocked her head, and then with a flap of wings, dive bombed down past Dean's head, making him duck. When he whipped his head up again, he spotted her landing on the railing just outside the bunker door.

Dean looked around nervously, and slowly followed. He really had no idea what was going on, but it seemed like a weird coincidence for this bird _not_ to be Ryn. And if it was her, he couldn't just leave her outside. She did save him from the Mark, after all.

"You'd better be you," he grumbled as he cautiously inched past her to reach the door.

Ryn merely blinked at him.

Grimacing with trepidation, Dean cranked the handle and pushed the door open. Ryn flapped her wings and flew past him, soaring down and into the library. He heard Sam yelp and the startled sounds of a chair scraping across wood. Dean barreled down the steps into the study area where Ryn had found another perch on the back of a chair. Sam was standing pressed against a support column, eyes wide as he sputtered wordlessly.

"Uh, Dean?"

"I think it's Ryn," he said, gesturing at the bird uselessly.

"Um, okay. And she's a giant bird because…?"

Dean scowled. "How the hell should I know? Cas probably could tell us, except wait, he can't!"

Damn that angel and his obstinance. If he had just _waited_ a little longer…

"Um," Sam floundered. "What do we do?"

Ryn let out a piercing cry and hopped over to another chair, closer to him. Sam flinched, looking thoroughly freaked out, but didn't retreat. Not even when Ryn stretched out her neck and started pecking at Sam's shirt.

Dean just stared, flabbergasted. "Dude, either she wants to eat you, or this is some flipped out attempt at charades. Either way, it ain't gonna fly."

Ryn squawked in what Dean could almost hear as an indignant tone, if that were possible, and she jabbed more fervently at Sam.

Sam's brows rose sharply. "Oh. Maybe she wants to borrow some clothes."

The bird immediately stopped pestering Sam and turned to give her feathers a quick preen.

Dean's eyes widened. "Okay, I can take that as an affirmative. Charlie left some stuff here, right?"

Sam nodded, and despite his apparent acceptance that Ryn was back in the form of a giant bird, he still skirted around her to go help Dean rustle up some clothes. Charlie hadn't left too many things from the last time she'd stayed, but they found a pair of jeans and a Dungeons&Dragons t-shirt. Dean felt really awkward going through the underwear, and told Sam to grab something. His little brother's bitch-face was sour beyond measure, and Sam made a hasty grab for the first articles in the dresser.

They returned to the study and set the clothes out, then retreated into the other room to give Ryn a moment of privacy. Dean felt a sizzle on the air, and a moment later the glow of a blazing fire danced off the walls. He almost turned around to check that the library wasn't going up in flames, but stopped himself. As long as he didn't smell anything burning, it was probably okay.

A few minutes later, a female voice cleared her throat. Dean and Sam turned around to find Ryn, once again in human form. Her auburn hair cascaded loosely over her shoulders, and there was still a glimmer of flames in her amber eyes.

She fingered Charlie's D&D shirt with a dubious look. "Interesting wardrobe."

"Uh, yeah," Dean replied. "We don't exactly have much…girly stuff on hand." He ignored his little brother's eye roll.

"Well, I appreciate it," Ryn said.

"What happened?" Sam broke in. "We thought you were dead."

Her expression darkened with haunted memory. "I thought I was too, for good. I could feel myself slipping from this plane, unable to revive the spark needed to come back." A tremor ran through her frame, and she glanced away for a brief moment. "But I had something pretty motivating to live for," she said, looking up again. Her eyes traveled around the library before returning to the Winchesters. "Where is Castiel?"

Dean's stomach tightened. Had he ever in his life had good news to deliver? And it was his job to look after his friend, a job he'd failed in. Again.

Sam flicked a hesitant glance his way. "He, uh…"

"He what?" Ryn demanded, a glow emanating from her skin. That power of volatile fire was still pretty close to the surface.

"He's alive," Dean said quickly. "He's just…not doing so hot." He waved for Ryn to follow him down the corridor toward the dormitory wing. "Cas wanted to cast this spell to retrieve his memories. You were dead, and he was being a stubborn ass…"

Dean slowed his pace when he realized Ryn had stopped, eyes wide as she gaped at him.

"He cast a spell to remember…me?"

"Yeah," Sam said sympathetically from behind. "It was really important to him."

Ryn shook her head, appearing stunned. "Did it work?"

"We have no idea." Dean turned and continued toward Cas's room. "He's been in a coma since."

He led Ryn into the angel's bedroom where Cas lay on the bed, still as ever. She froze for a split second before moving to his side. Dean held himself back, folding his arms across his chest. Sam came to stand next to him, and they both watched as Ryn tentatively reached out to brush some of Cas's hair off his forehead. She didn't say anything for several long moments, and there was a bit there where she appeared to be concentrating.

Finally, she looked back up at the Winchesters. "There is magic at work here. I can't say what it's doing, if it's even doing what it was meant to, but…" Her gaze dropped back to Cas's lax face. "It's draining the rest of his grace."

"Can you stop the spell?" Dean asked. "Burn it out like you did with the Mark?" This was a minor casting in comparison, and shouldn't be as dangerous.

Ryn shook her head, expression pinching with frustration and anguish. "It's too entangled with his grace." She laid her palm across his brow, and after another moment let out a noise of consternation. "And the magic shows no signs of releasing him any time soon. Even if it runs its course, there won't be enough grace left."

Dean's heart sank into his stomach like a stone. Why did this keep happening to them? They'd save one of their family, only to lose another.

"We've been researching ways to fix Cas's grace," Sam said. "If we can do that, it should mean the spell wouldn't be harmful anymore. Right?" He threw both Ryn and Dean a questioning look, but Dean couldn't give his little brother the answer he wanted. Because when did things ever go that simply for them?

Ryn looked at Cas, and then back at them with mustered resolve. "Where can I help?"


	3. Chapter 3

 

_Castiel did not report his encounter with the Alpha phoenix to his superiors_. He justified his borderline negligence with the fact that he did not have anything substantial to tell. Therefore, he would continue to keep his silence and watch her movements carefully until she gave him cause to do otherwise.

Castiel could have observed her from a distance, and yet the very next day he found himself once again at the river, concealed among the reeds and waiting for the phoenix to emerge. She came for water, as expected, and Castiel watched her assist an older woman in lifting and balancing a heavy jug atop her head for easier carrying. He couldn't help his skeptical snort. Perhaps the creature was doing this for his benefit, a counter move to his earlier warning.

Yet as she filled her own jug and exchanged smiles with the children present, she did not look up to gaze across the river. And when she did not linger as she had yesterday, Castiel felt smug satisfaction that his presence had not been detected.

Thus, he returned the following day. He had to admit that watching the phoenix's interactions only at the river could not give him the full picture of her activities, but he'd wait until he had an inkling of her volatile nature before considering how to track her into the human settlements without being seen.

She came much later in the afternoon that day, close to evening when the sun began to sink toward the west, and moved a bit further down the bank away from the customary gathering place. Most of the other women had returned home already, leaving nothing but the burble of the river as chatter.

Castiel tensed. What was she up to?

The setting sun cast the desert landscape in a wash of gold and orange reflected off the coarse sand and monumental pyramid. The phoenix slipped down to the edge of the river and began to pull off her robe. Castiel frowned as he watched, wondering if she was preparing for some ritual…

She wore nothing but a simple sheath dress now as she knelt on the shore and began to wash the robe in the river. Castiel rocked back from his tense position. How…mundane.

The phoenix unwrapped the shawl from her head, letting thick, auburn locks spill over her shoulders. Shards of sunlight caught her hair, and for a split second she looked as though she were crowned in fire. Then she waded into the water and slipped completely beneath the surface.

Castiel suddenly felt uncomfortable watching her. It seemed intrusive, and he couldn't claim there was anyone nearby whom he needed to ensure protection for.

She resurfaced, and swam back to shore, her hair and dress clinging tightly to her skin as she exited the river.

"If you're going to make a habit of this spying, at least tell me your name," she called out.

He stiffened, momentarily frozen by alarm and disbelief. How did she know? Castiel began to wonder whether he'd been as concealed as he'd thought yesterday, or if she had known he was there the whole time.

Well, he was caught now, and while his instinct was to either respond with unapologetic superiority or simply fly away, he _had_ been spying on her unnecessarily.

He fidgeted nervously, making the reeds sway, and said gruffly, "Castiel."

"My name is Aderyn," she replied genially.

Castiel watched as she gathered up her wet robe and began draping it across some branches. She did not speak to him again, and while that shouldn't have bothered him at all, he suddenly couldn't help but to break the silence.

"Why did you enter the river like that? Now all your clothes are wet."

She canted her head toward his position, mouth pursed in a thoughtful moue. Rather than replying, however, she simply lifted one hand and waved it down the fabric of first her robe, then her dress. A soft glow emanated from her palm, not a full flame, but Castiel sensed the heat in her power. He was instantly on guard again.

"And now they are dry," she said, turning around and taking a seat on a large rock.

Castiel furrowed his brow in confusion. She was a very strange creature indeed. She was neither openly hostile to an angel, her natural enemy, nor did she flee from his presence though he could smite her to smithereens.

"Why are you not afraid?" came out of his mouth before he could censor it. Too late to backtrack now, though. "I could destroy you in the blink of an eye."

The phoenix arched a single brow. "Is that your intention, Castiel?"

He frowned. "…No, I…don't think so."

Now both her brows lifted, and she seemed quietly pensive for a moment. "Well, until you are sure, I will not be driven from my home."

Home? Castiel blinked at her in bewilderment. "You are not one of the human tribes. How can this be your home?"

"Because I chose it."

Castiel squinted. "I do not understand."

Her forehead pinched in consideration. Finally, after a long moment, she spoke again, "I have no lineage, no roots. Home is where I choose to settle. And as long as I live in peace with my human neighbors, then no one, not even angels, is going to exile me."

Castiel didn't know whether to be offended or chastised by her unyielding tone. Mostly he was just perplexed. This woman did not act like any monster he knew.

"Why here?" he asked, needing to rule out the possibility that she intended to meddle with God's chosen.

She shrugged. "I've spent time in the north among the snow. For this lifetime I wanted a place of heat." Her lips quirked ruefully. "If I had known it would've become a focal point for Heaven's attentions, I might have remained nomadic a little longer."

She suddenly stood up and walked to the river's edge. "Are you going to come out of hiding or continue to skulk in those reeds?"

Castiel bristled. He was _not_ skulking. He shifted, making the grass crinkle. "My true form will burn your eyes out."

The corner of her mouth curved upward. "One cannot burn that which is already fire."

Castiel didn't know how to respond to that. The phoenix was waiting expectantly, and for a moment he was frozen with indecision. Part of him didn't truly want to hurt her, which was ridiculous; he shouldn't care one way or the other. And if he did end up burning her eyes out, at least she would no longer be a potential threat. He did warn her, after all.

He slowly straightened from his crouched position, his grace flickering around him like a cloak as he finally stepped into full view. Castiel drew his shoulders back as his aura cast a bluish glow upon the phoenix's face. He waited for her eyes to combust as expected…but while Castiel detected a glimmer of flame dancing in her amber irises, she did not drop to the ground screaming in pain.

She smiled, and then turned to slip back into her robe. "It was nice to meet you, Castiel."

With that, she headed up the bank and back toward the settlement, leaving Castiel standing on the opposite shore, utterly speechless. It took him a few moments longer to recover, much to his chagrin, and he quickly took flight in a rustle of wingbeats.

He tried to pour his full concentration on his mission when he returned to his post, but when one's orders were to only watch and observe, that was somewhat difficult to do. _Especially when Castiel's thoughts kept turning toward the mysterious phoenix…to Aderyn_.

* * *

If Sam had any lingering doubts about the level of devotion Ryn held toward Cas, they were put to rest by her relentless focus as she helped the Winchesters pore over the Men of Letters' books. Unfortunately, they were still having no luck.

Sam finished the last page in the tome he'd been reading and closed the hardbound cover with a thud. "We need help from higher up."

"If the angels knew how to fix Cas's grace, don't you think they would've done it by now?" Dean groused.

"There's one angel who knows a lot more than most of them."

Dean started shaking his head. "Don't even say it."

"He _was_ God's Scribe," Sam pressed. "Who knows how many secrets he wrote down."

"That's just like saying it!"

"What are you two 'not' saying?" Ryn broke in tiredly.

"We should try talking to Metatron for answers," Sam explained.

"He's not gonna help us, Sam," Dean said, tone pitched low.

Right, Metatron had sworn he'd never help them after Dean beat the crap out of the angel. But what choice did they have? They were getting nowhere and Cas was running out of time.

"Who's Metatron?" Ryn asked.

Dean scowled. "The dickbag who stole Cas's grace in the first place."

She straightened, expression darkening. "He's the one who cast the angels from Heaven?"

Sam blinked. "You know about that?"

"The 'meteor shower' was hard to miss, but Castiel mentioned it. This Metatron is still alive?"

"Yeah, but locked up in Heaven's prison," Dean replied, leaning back in his chair. "Kinda out of reach."

"We could try summoning Hannah," Sam suggested. "She seemed like a friend."

Dean snorted. "She hates my guts just as much as Metatron does. Or did you forget the time she tried to convince Cas to execute me?"

Sam fought to hold back a sigh. Okay, there was that too. Shit, Dean had alienated just about _everyone_ who could've helped them, hadn't he?

"Maybe when she sees the Mark is gone she'll be more…open," Sam added, though he was less convinced about the viability of this option now.

"Wouldn't count on it," Dean muttered.

Sam pushed away from the table and spread his arms helplessly. "I'm open to other suggestions here, Dean."

His brother's jaw worked, but he didn't offer up any. "Fine, we can summon her."

Ryn placed a notecard between the pages she'd been reading as a bookmark. "I shouldn't be around for that. Sounds like this angel will take to a phoenix being in the mix even less."

Sam hadn't thought of that, but she probably had a point. "Hannah won't be able to respond right away," he said. "As far as we know, angels can't fly anymore. And there's no telling how far away the portal to Heaven is."

"There's a portal to Heaven?" Ryn said dubiously.

Sam shrugged. Too bad Cas was the one who knew where it was. Otherwise they could just go ring the bell. "We can perform the summoning, and in the meantime just…continue researching, I guess."

And didn't that sound like a lackluster plan. But they had little else to go on at this point. So Sam went off to do the angel summoning ritual, and then returned to the mounds of books to keep searching for anything the Men of Letters might have on angel grace.

It actually took less time to get a response than Sam was expecting, as a knock sounded on the door the following morning.

Ryn stood up from her seat, which she hadn't moved from at all before that; she burned the midnight oil like only an immortal who didn't need sleep could. "I'll go check on Castiel."

Sam exchanged a look with Dean, who gave a tired sigh and got up as well. Together, they headed upstairs to answer the door.

Only, the person they'd been expecting was not who they found standing outside. The short, almost scrawny guy in a gray suit and finely trimmed beard looked like someone fresh off of Wall Street.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean demanded.

The dude frowned, but then his eyes widened in understanding. "Of course, you wouldn't recognize me. I swore I'd never occupy another vessel, but…I know you wouldn't summon me unless it had to do with Castiel."

"Hannah?" Sam said in disbelief.

He—she—nodded. "What do you want?"

Sam took a resolute breath. "Metatron."

Hannah's eyes narrowed, and she flicked a sharp look at Dean. Her brow furrowed as she scrutinized him, and then she reeled back in surprise. "You've managed to remove the Mark."

"Yeah," Dean said, shifting uncomfortably. "And you're right, we're calling about Cas."

"Why?" she asked suspiciously. "Is it about his grace? Is he fading?"

She at least sounded concerned, which boded well for them.

"He is," Sam confirmed. "Since Metatron was God's Scribe, we figure maybe he knows more about angels than most of you. No offense."

Hannah didn't appear slighted, but thoughtful. "Metatron did say there was some of Castiel's original grace left over from the spell," she said carefully.

Sam straightened as hope shot through him. "If Cas got his own grace back, that'd cure him, right? He'd be powered up again and not vulnerable to…spells and stuff?" He grimaced, really not wanting to explain the memory spell to Hannah.

The angel's mouth pursed. "Perhaps." She fell silent for a prolonged beat in which Sam became intimately familiar with the expression 'waiting on pins and needles.'

"But Metatron lies," she finished, drawing her shoulders back defensively.

"Let us talk with him," Dean said.

Her eyes flashed with fury. "I am well familiar with your style of 'talk,'" Hannah said disdainfully. "The last time Metatron was in your company, he returned in less than pristine condition. And before that there was Tessa." She shook her head. "No, Metatron stays where he is."

"This is Cas's _life_ we're talking about," Sam pressed, feeling that thread of hope unraveling before they'd even had the chance to grasp it.

Hannah's expression softened with something akin to regret. "I know, and I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" Dean spat. "After everything Cas has done for you, for Heaven!"

"If Castiel were here, he would agree with me." Her posture sagged a fraction. "I did go to Metatron for help with Castiel's fading grace, but Castiel talked me out of it. Because we both know the only way Metatron helps is if he's free. And Castiel was right; I can't let the Scribe out of his cell. Not again. He's too dangerous."

"So you're willing to just let Cas die?" Sam asked desperately.

Hannah gave him a saddened look, but it only frustrated him more. "That was Castiel's wish, and I will respect it."

"That's bull," Dean bit out.

Hannah's gaze turned cold. "That is how it must be."

Dean was a coiled knot of tension that Sam recognized was on the verge of snapping, so he quickly stepped between his brother and the angel. "Dean," he said in a low tone.

A muscle in Dean's jaw ticked, but he forced himself to move back. Sam slowly turned to face Hannah, and even though he loomed over the angel's current vessel, Sam knew better than to try taking her in a fight. Besides, there were other options.

"Sorry you can't help," he said. Sorry they were gonna have to do things another way, Sam thought as he surreptitiously slipped his phone into Hannah's suit pocket.

Hannah nodded. "I'm sorry too." She turned around and began walking away.

"Nice, Sam," Dean growled, pivoting to march back inside the bunker. "This was your idea, and now you just want to give up on Metatron?"

Sam huffed as he followed. "No, we need him. We're just gonna have to go with Plan B—we break him out."

Dean paused on the stairway, brows rising sharply. "Break him out. From Heaven? Are you mental? How the hell are we supposed to do that?"

Sam strode past him. "For starters, I planted my phone in Hannah's pocket, so we'll be able to track her back to the portal."

Dean was stunned silent, and it took a moment for him to continue down the steps. "Okay, uh…okay. So, what, we waltz right in? _Without_ dying? Even if we manage that, the place has gotta be huge."

Sam went to the shelf containing the Men of Letters' ledgers and scanned the spines. "Which is why we're gonna need some help."

Ryn emerged from the hallway. "Help with what?"

Dean snorted. "Storming Heaven."

She arched a single eyebrow. "I take it that angel friend wasn't willing to give you Metatron."

"Yeah, so much for her caring about Cas," Dean grumbled. "And Sam somehow thinks we can just break the douchebag out of prison."

Sam found the book he'd been looking for and pulled it off the shelf. He flipped it open, searching for the entry he remembered reading about. "Not alone," he responded absently. "But that's the gist, yeah." He smacked the page in triumph when he found what he was looking for. "We're gonna get a psychic to contact Bobby to help us get inside."

Dean's jaw dropped open. "Are you serious?"

"And who is this Bobby?" Ryn asked, moving cautiously forward to look over Sam's arm at the text.

"A hunter we used to work with," Sam answered. "He, uh, actually kinda helped raise us. Bobby's the best, and if anyone can help us from up there, he can."

Ryn frowned. "So, he's dead?" she asked carefully.

Sam's throat constricted. Every so often the grief still got to him. "Yeah, for a few years now." He glanced between Ryn and Dean. "Guys, we can do this."

Ryn's mouth pressed into a thin line, but she lifted her chin, a spark of fiery resolve in her eyes. "I'm definitely in."

They both looked to Dean expectantly.

Dean finally shrugged. "Hell, Bobby's probably bored out of his mind up there. I'm sure he'd jump at the chance to shake things up."

Sam smiled in relief, glad his brother had his back in this. Because it _was_ a crazy idea with the potential to go wrong in so many ways.

So, a Winchester play as usual.

* * *

Sam tracked down an address for the psychic the Men of Letters had noted as having the ability to contact the dead. He also found the likely location for the portal, given his phone had stopped moving and been broadcasting a signal from the same spot for the past several hours. Steps one and two down; just a half dozen more to go.

Dean had been packing up their gear, and Ryn had been off helping, Sam thought. Now that he'd completed his parts, he went through the bunker looking for them. He passed Cas's room and caught a glimpse of someone sitting on the edge of the bed. Sam froze in the doorway when he realized it was Ryn, and that she was holding Cas's hand clasped between hers.

"I waited a long time for you, Castiel," she was saying softly. "Wait just a little longer for me."

Sam glanced up and down the empty hallway, feeling like he should try to retreat without disturbing them, but then Ryn spoke up more loudly,

"Are we ready to go, Sam?"

He cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling guilty for having interrupted what looked like a private moment. "Uh, yeah."

He inched his way into the room and over to the bed. Cas showed no change, which Sam honestly didn't know whether to think of as good or not. When it came to the angel's grace, it could be fizzling out on the inside and they'd never know about it.

"Um, should one of us stay behind with him?" he asked.

Ryn was silent for a beat, but then she gently laid Cas's hand down at his side and stood up. "There's nothing we can do here, and if we have a better chance at succeeding with all three of us out there, then that's what we should do."

Couldn't argue with that, but Sam still felt reluctant to leave Cas unattended. Too bad they didn't have many friends they could call on anymore. There was Charlie, but Sam hadn't been able to get a hold of her. Besides, Ryn was right; there wasn't much they could actually do here.

She started toward the door, but Sam found himself transfixed on Cas's lax expression, smooth in sleep in a way that differed greatly from his emotionless demeanor long ago.

"Has Cas changed much since you knew him?" he asked.

Ryn paused. "What?"

Sam had assured Cas before doing the spell that he was the same angel, no matter the brainwashing Naomi had tried to program him with. Still…

"It's just…hard to imagine Cas being that friendly with…well, anyone." Even with Dean, it'd taken the angel years to loosen up. "Especially a phoenix."

Ryn gave him a wry look. "He did want to smite me the first couple times."

Sam couldn't help but snort. Okay, that did sound like Cas. "Same here."

She arched a brow, but Sam waved it off.

"Long story. So…he was always intense."

Ryn regarded him thoughtfully, flicking a glance back at the unconscious angel. "Oh yes. But he was also…I wouldn't say completely naive, but…"

Sam's lips twitched. "But kind of a doofus?"

Ryn blinked at him, and then let out a small laugh. "In some ways, yes. But only because he always tried to make sense of things he didn't understand."

Sam smiled at the host of images that filled his mind—Cas fumbling at Dean's pop culture references, trying to work a cell phone for the first time, interpreting the philosophical meaning behind cartoons. Yeah, at heart, Cas was curious and open, giving and genuine. It was just sad that it took the influence of a phoenix and two broken hunters to give him the freedom to embrace it.

Sam shifted back to Ryn, only to find her expression had turned sorrowful as she gazed at Cas's form.

Sam reached out to gently touch her shoulder, and leveled a look full of promise at her. "We _will_ save him."

She gave him a wan smile. "Castiel thought you two could do a lot of things. …So, I think I believe you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the dialogue from the conversation with Hannah was from 10x17 "Inside Man."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been following this story! Also, in case anyone missed it, I posted two one shots this week (oh my). A short drabble sequence and a Halloween case fic. Now back to Cas and Ryn!

_Castiel soared over the land of Egypt_. He'd taken to flying more often recently, rather than staying back at one of the garrison's posts where they watched from afar. The angels had several vantage points from which to observe young Moses and the Israelites, so Castiel's departures were never marked.

He…appreciated the scenery, the sweeping vistas of varying landscapes and brilliant wash of colors. His father's wondrous creations, everything from the tiny thrum of a spider's strand to the colossal, towering mountains tipped in ice. It was all beautiful, and basking in it made him feel closer to the father he adored, though they had never met.

As he arced along the Nile, Castiel spotted Aderyn sitting at the top of a hill. Curious, for it was well after sunset. He slowed his flight and angled his trajectory down toward her.

They had spoken several more times since those first couple encounters. Castiel did not know when he had shifted from keeping a suspicious eye on the Alpha phoenix to engaging in simple conversation with Aderyn. He had questioned her about her life here, but she had also asked him things that he had freely given in return. The exchanges had become…pleasant. Castiel would almost say he enjoyed them.

He alighted on the ground behind her, folding his wings down his back as his grace lit the hilltop in a white halo. "It's late to be out," he said without preamble.

"I like looking at the stars," she replied, apparently not startled by his arrival. Shrouded by night, she'd forgone her head wrap to let her hair fall unbound around her shoulders.

Castiel tipped his head back to gaze at the cosmos, hundreds, thousands of glittering gems speckling the vast expanse of sky. "They are magnificent."

Aderyn set her palm on the ground beside her. "Will you join me for a bit?"

Castiel blinked, for a moment not understanding. Then she returned her arm to her lap, leaving the space beside her conspicuously vacant. Castiel hesitated. Despite their strange…camaraderie, these past few weeks, the two of them had maintained a somewhat standard orbit around each other. Perhaps it was out of a lingering guardedness, though that had whittled down to barely a concern on Castiel's part. He did not mistrust Aderyn, despite her nature. It still amazed him that she could stand to be anywhere near his true form. And after millennia among nothing but other angels, many who were aloof and cold, he couldn't help but feel curious to experience some kind of connection that could be deeper than that.

Castiel slowly moved forward and eased himself down next to Aderyn, the cloak of his grace fluttering like silk in the slight breeze. It cast her features in a heavenly glow that Castiel found himself focusing on rather than the stars.

"The humans have their own names for the constellations," she spoke. "They can't help but recognize patterns in the night sky." Aderyn leaned back. "Do they have names at all?"

"Yes," Castiel replied, and reached up to point to one directly above them. "That's Nekkar. And over there is Galina. God named each and every one, though…" He ducked his head in embarrassment. "I do not know them all. I believe he had his scribe write them down somewhere."

"That must have been quite an undertaking," she said, barely above a whisper. "Have you seen them up close?"

Castiel felt his mouth curve in a small, reminiscent smile. "They are much larger than they appear. But then, they are very far away from earth. The sun is actually a star."

She laughed, and the delightful sound made him smile wider for some inexplicable reason.

"I am serious. Stars are massive orbs of pure fire. They appear different colors to the human eye due to their varying surface temperatures."

Aderyn's lips twitched in apparent amusement. "That is much less romanticized than the idea that the humans' ancestors go to become stars when they die."

Castiel quirked a confused brow. "Human souls go to Heaven or Hell."

Aderyn canted a look of almost fond exasperation at him. "I know, Castiel. But sometimes it's nice to imagine something different."

"Why? It's obviously incorrect."

She shrugged. "Because in a world of hardship, pain, and turmoil, we look to something out of our reach that gives us a simultaneous sense of longing and peace. Something that stirs our hearts from stagnant survival and invites us to dream."

Castiel frowned. That hardly made sense at all.

She gave him a saddened smile as though able to read his mind. "It's okay, Castiel. There is beauty in the truth as well."

His mouth turned down further as he mulled over her words. How could there be beauty in anything other than the truth? Because the opposite would be a lie, and therefore ugly and abhorrent. Disconcerted, he looked up at the sky again and the myriad of sparkling stars pulsing on barely perceptible levels. He supposed humans would find comfort in the belief that their loved ones were not lost in death, that they continued to watch over their families. It wasn't true, of course. Though…

Angels watched earth from above. In their true forms, from a distance, they might resemble shooting stars. If they were ever seen by human eyes, which did not happen, so that was a null comparison.

Or, was it? Aderyn's point seemed to be more about the possibility, of envisioning something beyond one's ability to fully understand, and thereby filling in the gaps with something awe-inspiring. In that light, Castiel could see the stars as more than just balls of gas burning billions of miles away.

He shifted tentatively. "You know, humans are made of stardust."

Aderyn lifted a brow at him.

Castiel's throat felt dry as he teetered on the edge of sacrilege. Still, it wasn't _technically_ a non-truth…even though he had no business putting such a fanciful spin on it. Castiel nevertheless continued,

"When God created everything, he started with a mash of superheated matter—stars. And as he worked on such a cosmic scale to manipulate and shape that matter, there were many collisions, which of course scattered the materials across the cosmos. Eventually compact worlds were formed, and from those building blocks, God created man. So you see, this was all made from stardust." He swept his arm out to encompass the desert, pyramids, and human villages. When he glanced back, he found Aderyn's eyes dancing with a smile.

"Everything here except you and me," she said softly.

Castiel stiffened when she lifted a hand to hover a mere breadth's from his shoulder. He didn't know what to do. She may have been immune to laying eyes on him, but making physical contact? That was…unspeakable. Blasphemous, even. And yet he did not try to move away.

Aderyn's hand brushed the edges of his mantled grace, but it ebbed and receded through her fingers like quicksilver, a specter impossible to grasp. He didn't even feel it, and by the rueful look in her eyes, neither did she. Castiel wasn't fully part of this plane of existence anyway.

Aderyn pulled back. "We're two fires burning on opposite ends of the spectrum."

Castiel frowned, not understanding.

Aderyn lay back on the ground and folded her arms up behind her head. "Tell me the other star names you know."

Uncertain of what had just happened, Castiel brushed it off, and reclined back on the ground next to her—inches from touching. _He began to recite the names of his father's dazzling creations, marveling at how a phoenix could show more awe for them than his fellow angels had done in a long time_.

* * *

Oliver Pryce still lived in Kansas, which was good. Meant it would save them time driving all over the country to do what they needed to, though it was still after dark by the time they pulled onto the psychic's street.

Sam scrolled through the info he'd transferred to his tablet as he, Dean, and Ryn got out of the car. "So, back in the '50s, Oliver Pryce was a kid psychic. He performed everywhere—carnivals, Atlantic City—you name it. He was the real deal. Now, the Men of Letters were teaching him how to control his powers when they got…you know."

"Brutally murdered?" Dean supplied.

Yeah, that.

"The point is he's one of the good guys. He might be happy to see us."

"Or not," Ryn said, stopping at the curb.

Sam pulled up short and looked across the street at the corner house, which was surrounded by a wrought iron fence overgrown with dead ivy. Half a dozen 'No Trespassing' signs hung around the perimeter.

The brothers exchanged a look before Sam squared his jaw in determination and started across the road. Dean's and Ryn's footsteps followed. The gate creaked open like something out of a B-horror flick, and with the way the yard was overrun with browning weeds and the porch light unlit, Sam could easily imagine an axe murderer living here instead. But he would not be deterred.

Striding right up to the door, Sam rapped his knuckles against it. "Mr. Pryce?" He waited a moment before knocking again. "Oliver Pryce!"

Nothing.

Dean craned his neck to glance back at the street. "We could just let ourselves in."

"Picking the lock isn't gonna win us any points," Sam pointed out.

"I ain't interested in points, I only care about saving Cas."

Sam shot his brother a scowl. He wasn't saying they give up, just that they keep trying with a little tact first. He knocked again, and the porch light suddenly flicked on. Finally. At least the guy was home after all.

"Mr. Pryce? This is Sam—"

The door swung open, revealing an older gentleman with a fully gray beard but a bald patch on his head. He wore spectacles and a brown cardigan sweater.

"Winchester," Pryce said. "You're Sam Winchester, Man of Letters."

Sam stared, momentarily taken aback. His brother's gaze narrowed in suspicion.

"Yeah," he replied. "How did you, uh…"

"Mind reader, remember?" Pryce said pointedly. "You're here with your brother, Dean Winchester. And you're…" He trailed off when he turned toward Ryn, brow furrowing. "What _are_ you?" he asked guardedly.

Ryn looked the old man up and down. "I'm a phoenix."

Pryce blinked. "You don't look like a firebird."

Dean snorted. "At the moment." He pushed his way inside, uninvited. Sam rolled his eyes, but nevertheless followed. They were here for help and they weren't leaving without it.

Pryce sputtered at their intrusion, but at least didn't devolve into a hissy fit. Dean veered into the man's living room, which had so many books stacked everywhere it kinda reminded Sam of Bobby's old place. And that made his chest tighten again. Some clothes were also strewn over the backs of chairs and a sofa, and a half-eaten TV dinner tray sat on a stack of newspapers spread across a round table.

Sam did a double-take at a large poster with a black-and-white headshot of a young boy and Pryce's name in bold yellow lettering across the top. "That's you?" he asked.

Pryce scoffed. "Was me. I don't do the psychic stuff no more. Being around people, it's kind of… _hell_! All those brains yapping all the time drives a guy bananas."

Dean caught Sam's eye from behind Pryce and twirled his finger at his temple in the gesture for 'looney'.

"Because you can hear everyone's thoughts," Ryn said, almost in understanding.

Pryce turned toward her. "Well, not yours. All I'm getting from you is…bright colors. Fire." His brow puckered in contemplation before he shook himself out of it. "But the hippie over here?" He gestured at Sam, who shot his brows upward in response. Dean put a fist across his mouth to cover a guffaw.

Pryce squinted at Sam. "I'm seeing some creep-ass hobbit-lookin' fella…a prison cell?" He shook his head in confusion.

Dean arched his brows. "He is good."

"That's Heaven's jail," Sam explained.

"Heaven?" Pryce repeated dubiously.

"Yeah, and we're looking to break someone out of it."

"An angel," Ryn put in.

Pryce held up a palm and began waving it back and forth in protest. "No. No, that can't be."

"Why not?" Dean demanded.

Pryce leveled a scathing look at him. "Because I'm an _atheist_."

Sam's mouth quirked. "Not anymore."

"We have an inside man," Dean said. "But we need your help to talk to him."

"In Heaven's freakin' jail?"

"No," Sam clarified. "Just in Heaven. The angel we're breaking out is in jail."

Pryce just shook his head incredulously again. "Ookaay. And if I say no?"

Sam exchanged a staunch look with his brother before meeting Pryce's gaze head-on. "You're the mind reader."

The old man's eyes widened, and his mouth sputtered soundlessly for a few seconds before he finally relented. "I'll get my crap."

Sam slowly exhaled in relief. Okay, this could work.

They waited while Pryce returned with an armful of items, which he dropped on the couch first and then went to clear off the small round table. Then he spread a maroon tablecloth with golden runes over the top. Next was an iron candle holder with six white candles that went in the center. Pryce activated a lighter and coaxed them all into flame.

"Alright, have a seat," he said gruffly, sitting down himself.

The three of them joined him at the somewhat cramped table.

"You got anything that belonged to the deceased?" Pryce asked.

"Yes, right here," Sam replied, and leaned down to reverently pull Bobby's hat from his bag. It was practically the only thing they had left of the old hunter, since they'd had to burn his flask. Sam gingerly placed it on the table.

"Good," Pryce grumbled. "Now shut up and hold hands."

Dean shot Sam a pissy face that said, ' _really?_ ' Sam gave him a pointed look in return, and took both Pryce's and Ryn's hands in his own.

The moment Dean got over it and did the same, the psychic closed his eyes and started to chant. " _Amate spiritus obscure, Te quaerimus._ "

The lights in the chandelier above their heads began to buzz and flicker, and Sam exchanged glances of trepidation with Dean and Ryn. This had to work. Everything was riding on it…

" _Te oramus, nobiscum colloquere, apud nos circita_."

Now the table was rattling and the walls were shaking. Sam had no idea if this was supposed to be happening. He whipped his gaze to Ryn, who at least didn't seem all that alarmed, her head canted and eyes slowly roving around as though curious. Then the candle flames spewed upward like blow torches.

Sam flinched, his grip spasming around Ryn's hand. She gave him a measured, reassuring look, and he forced himself to breathe. Gradually the quaking stopped and the candles settled into a slow burn like elongated spades. Pryce opened his eyes.

"Go ahead."

Sam shifted in his seat, flicking his gaze around nervously. "Bobby?" he tried. "Bobby, can you hear me?" He looked at Dean and Ryn in question, because he sure as hell wasn't hearing anything in response.

Dean rolled his neck. "Bobby, we need your help."

There was a faint crackle, and then a soft echo that sounded like it was coming from a bad speaker somewhere above their heads. " _Dean? Sam?_ "

Sam's breath caught in his throat. This had been the plan, the goal, all along, but…he wasn't prepared for hearing Bobby's voice again, like the old hunter was just on the other side of a door, just within reach.

"Bobby," he breathed.

" _Sam?_ " the disembodied voice repeated.

"Yeah, it's me. And Dean."

Bobby let out a noise of disbelief, then, " _What the hell are you boys up to?_ " he accused.

Sam shook his head with a small smile; damn, he'd missed that gruff, parental tone. He and Dean probably could have avoided a ton of shit if Bobby had still been around to knock some sense into them.

Dean also couldn't seem to hold back a grin. "That's kind of a long story, Bobby."

He started with Metatron taking Cas's grace and using it to cast the angels from Heaven, Cas being human for a bit, then Cas stealing another angel's grace. He left out the part about Sam being possessed by an angel against his will, Dean taking on the Mark and becoming a demon. Sam didn't blame him; he may have missed Bobby's 'not-taking-your-crap' attitude, but that didn't mean he wanted to get chewed out here and now.

Sam picked up with telling about their efforts to defeat Metatron, and how the Scribe on the God-trip had finally been stopped via a combined effort with the angels. He did not, mention, however, Metatron killing Dean.

Throughout the story, Ryn's mouth kept turning down further and further, and Sam realized Bobby wasn't the only one getting filled in on events.

"So, that's what's been happening," he finished. "The short version of it, anyway." He paused. "You still there, Bobby?"

" _Yeah, Sam,_ " came the soft, echoed reply. " _It's just…real- good, to hear your voices._ "

Sam's heart clenched with grief and a renewed sense of loss. "Yeah, you too." He heard the huff of a deep inhale.

" _Okay,_ " Bobby said with a sigh. " _If uh, I'm understanding right…you got to figure a way to fix Cas's grace before it burns out, taking him with it?_ "

"Pretty much, yeah," Sam said.

" _So, just another day at the office for you boys, huh?_ " Bobby joked.

Sam let out a half-laugh; Dean's smile was strained.

"Metatron said some of Cas's grace was leftover after the spell," the older Winchester put in. "That's what we need to get."

" _So what's the play?_ " Bobby asked.

Ryn leaned closer to the table. "Castiel once told me that each soul in Heaven is locked in its own private paradise. That's where you are now. You need to escape. You need to find the gate to earth and open it."

" _Who's that?_ "

"A friend," Sam said. "Bobby, we really need your help if we're gonna get in and find Metatron."

" _Hey, Sam,_ " Bobby replied, and the young hunter could practically envision the old man shaking his head. " _You remember when this job was just chopping up some fang and tossing back a cold one?_ "

Sam smirked sadly. "I miss that." He met his brother's equally morose gaze.

"Me too," Dean said quietly.

" _Ditto._ " There was a beat of silence. " _So, while I'm playing Steve McQueen, anyone gonna be looking for me?_ "

Dean shrugged, though Bobby couldn't see it. "Probably. You can bet the angels aren't gonna like a soul wandering free."

" _We got a way to slow them down?_ "

A lump gathered in Sam's throat. "Not exactly. But, um, you'll…you'll figure something out, Bobby. You always do."

And maybe it wasn't fair to ask this of him. He was dead, out of the game, retired. But…if anyone else understood how close Cas was to family, it was Bobby.

" _Listen, I- uh, appreciate the warm fuzzy,_ " Bobby hedged. " _But…I ain't exactly playing on the big leagues these days. I'm mostly drinking and reading the classics._ " The muffled echo fell silent for a moment. " _Truth is, I'm rusty,_ " he somberly admitted. " _And maybe there's somebody better out there._ "

Sam felt his heart crack at his surrogate father's despondent tone. Bobby had been one of the toughest, most mule-headed people Sam had ever known. Hearing his voice again had been hard, but hearing the self-doubting tenor where it had once been assured, that was almost too much to bear.

"There isn't, Bobby," Dean said, voice half desperate, half pleading. "This is all we got. You're all we got."

A muted sigh sounded through the connection. " _Hell, I'm already dead. What's the worst that could happen?_ "

Sam exchanged a worried look with Dean, then with Ryn. That was a dangerous question he really hoped they wouldn't have to find out the answer to.

" _So where do we start?_ "

Ryn glanced between the Winchesters hesitantly, as though waiting to see if they wanted to change their minds. Sam squared his jaw. They were doing this.

Ryn gave them a subtle nod. "You need to find your heaven's escape hatch. Look for something that shouldn't be there, and that's your way out."

" _If I find a way out, then what?_ "

"A portal that links Heaven and earth has to take a significant amount of power," Ryn explained. "You'll be able to feel it."

" _How Jedi,_ " he muttered.

"We'll be waiting as soon as you get it open," Sam said. "Good luck, Bobby."

" _Yeah, gonna need it…_ " The older hunter's voice trailed off, and the candle flames collapsed in on themselves, leaving only tendrils of smoke rising from the charred wicks.

Sam, Dean, and Ryn looked at each other grimly. They were in it now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several lines in the above scene were from 10x17 "Inside Man."


	5. Chapter 5

 

_Castiel knew he shouldn't be doing this; he had not received orders to take a vessel_. And yet a year after meeting Aderyn, of cultivating a friendship between them, Castiel wanted the chance to interact with her more fully on her own plane of existence.

And so he sought out a devout Hebrew, one who prayed multiple times per day and did not show fear when an angel first spoke to him. Castiel had been around Aderyn too much, however, and nearly forgot how damaging his true voice could be to mortals. But though this man flinched in pain from the utterances spoken at higher frequency, he did not balk.

He drew his shoulders back staunchly. " _Ken_."

And with that simple word of permission, Castiel's grace suffused through Nahshon's body, filling every speck and atom with angelic presence. The mortal soul receded to darkened depths, and Castiel opened his now human eyes to the world.

He glanced down at himself, taking a moment to adjust to the strange feeling of inhabiting a vessel. It was heavier than his true form, which was grace and light and celestial energy. This body was solid, grounded, and Castiel flexed his wings just to make sure they were still functioning. The feathers ruffled, the muscles poised and strong. He could fly in this form, to his relief.

He lifted one arm and watched the tendons beneath bronze skin contract as he flexed his fingers in and out. The light tunic and pleated skirt added extra weight, but it was negligible. Castiel gave a mighty beat of his wings, and leaped across the village to land outside Aderyn's dwelling.

It was a single-room abode with three mud brick walls erected against a small scarp that provided the fourth wall. Reed mats laid out across the tops created a ceiling and proper venting in hot weather. The house was set a good distance from the rest of the population, as even a phoenix living peaceably among humans preferred her privacy.

Castiel sensed Aderyn moving about within, and he cleared his throat loudly. She swiftly emerged in an instant, donned in her simple sheath dress. Her expression was guarded as she took in the strange man suddenly standing outside her home. Castiel began to realize that his approach might not have been the most tactful.

Aderyn's gaze narrowed sharply, and her forehead creased with confusion. "Castiel?"

Now he was the one caught off guard. How did she always manage to do that to him?

"Yes…" he stammered. "How did you know?"

She was still gaping at him in disbelief. "I'd recognize your grace anywhere. What are you…?"

He took a tentative step forward, suddenly feeling shy and uncertain. "I wanted to…that is…I mean we…" Oh, this was not going well. He should return Nahshon to his home and go back to the garrison.

"Wait." Aderyn held her palm up as though she could tell he was about to flee. Eyeing him thoughtfully, she slowly approached. "Did you do this for me?"

Castiel felt the vessel's natural chemical responses bring warmth to his cheeks, a reaction he did not understand. "Well, um, yes. I thought…" He ground his teeth in frustration; why could he not say what he meant?

Aderyn's expression was tender as she gradually closed the distance between them, until they stood face to face. Castiel could feel the puff of her breath on his vessel's skin, an odd sensation that somehow sent a shiver down his spine. He needed to figure out how to better regulate this body's temperature.

Aderyn ever so slowly lifted her hand, and Castiel watched in fascination as her knuckles eventually brushed against his. And it was tangible. Lips quirking, Aderyn pressed her palm into his and interlocked their fingers. Castiel felt a zing of energy spark at the contact.

She raised amber eyes to his, taking in his borrowed features with deliberate rumination.

Castiel swallowed. "Is this…okay?"

Her mouth curved into a smile. "Yes. I still see you in there." She brought her other hand up and lightly swept it over his brow. Another tingle ran through him, sensory receptors stirred to life at such a simple, human gesture. Castiel likened it to the closeness angels felt when tending each other's wings.

Heart suddenly fluttering, Castiel nervously reached his free hand up to touch Aderyn's flaming hair. The tresses were silky smooth, despite the granules of sand Castiel fingered between some strands. He'd been wrong—this experience was much more profound than he had expected.

Struck by a bolt of inspiration, Castiel stepped into the last of Aderyn's personal space and placed his hands on her shoulders. In the next breath, he had flapped his wings and leaped, now able to bear her in flight. He landed atop a ledge jutting out from the peak of Mount Sinai.

Aderyn took a disoriented stumble, and Castiel gripped her arm tightly to prevent her from pitching over the edge. Her eyes were wide as she looked out over the sweeping vista of craggy mountains, and beyond that the great expanse of desert. The sky was a smattering of white clouds interspersed with azure blue.

"Oh," she gasped, sounding half giddy with awe, and the wonder dancing in her eyes brought Castiel an immense sense of pleasure.

"I like to come up here and watch the sun set sometimes," he confessed. He hoped she wouldn't request to be taken home right away; dusk was not that far off and he would like to share the sight with her.

Aderyn leaned back against the rock formation, seeming content to stay, and let out a wistful sigh. "I miss flying."

Castiel shifted closer to her. "Why do you prefer this human form over your other one?"

She shrugged. "It's a matter of survival, really. A great firebird is not inconspicuous."

"There must be some advantages, though."

"Some," Aderyn conceded. "But it is an isolated and lonely existence. I prefer companionship."

Castiel frowned pensively. "I don't think I could give up my wings." It wasn't even that he loved to fly so much; they were also part of who he was—an angel. What must it be like for Aderyn, a creature who had to deny her own nature in order to possess something as simple and pure as companionship?

She gave him a small smile. "Fortunately, that is not a choice you have to make."

True, but that did not mean he didn't sympathize with her.

They lapsed into companionable silence, and watched the sun sink slowly toward the horizon, splashing the sky in a wash of brilliant orange, peach, and lavender. _And while the gloaming twilight was stunning, Castiel found himself captivated by an entirely different kind of beauty_.

* * *

Ryn sat in the backseat of the Winchesters' car, surveying the playground that apparently held the portal to Heaven. It was so inconspicuous, she might have thought they had it wrong, save for the single guy in a suit sitting like a statue on the park bench and staring out into the night.

"Since when does Hannah play guard duty?" Dean said.

Sam leaned toward the windshield. "Are we sure that's Hannah?"

"You think she jumped vessels when she went back to Heaven?"

Sam shrugged. "She did say something about not occupying another vessel again."

Dean let out a small snort, and they lapsed into silence once more, waiting for their friend Bobby to come through and open the portal for them. It'd been decided that Dean would handle any guards on the ground, and Ryn and Sam would make the foray into Heaven. Dean hadn't been happy about it at first, but Sam made the argument that this Metatron would be really unhappy to see Dean, and would probably sound the alarm on them just out of spiteful revenge. Better they get him out first, then deal with his uncooperative attitude. Dean had eventually agreed, begrudgingly.

Ryn pulled her hair back into a quick ponytail, and then bent down to retrieve her borrowed weapon from the floor of the backseat. The Men of Letters had quite the extensive collection, and Dean had said she could pick something out, though when she'd chosen the simple katana, he'd warned that it wouldn't do anything against angels.

Not until she was done with it, that is.

Her hand grew warm, and she channeled all that heat into the tip of her forefinger. When it was glowing red, she began to drag her nail along the side of the blade, leaving a score of fizzling orange in her wake. It was slow, tedious work, and eventually the hint of ozone and vapors began to trickle up in the car.

The front seat leather creaked as Sam turned around. "What are you doing?"

"These sigils will make angels vulnerable to the sword," she replied.

"That's handy," Dean commented.

"I'll make you one after all this if you want," she murmured absently, fully concentrated on getting each curve and line precise.

There was silence for a beat before Dean spoke again. "Did Cas teach you that?"

"He taught me some Enochian, but nothing like this. I had to get creative after a few unpleasant encounters with angels who were more smite-first-don't-ask-questions-later."

The year angels across the board began taking vessels and coming down to earth had been the start of a harried, nomadic time for Ryn. She now understood there'd been the Apocalypse, and then an angel civil war which had sometimes spilled out onto earth's soil. Sometimes angels stumbled upon her; sometimes they'd been actively hunting her down with the intent to use her as a weapon, much like Cain had when he'd tried to channel her inner fire and burn out his entire bloodline. She'd wondered at times where Castiel had been in all of it, whether he had taken a new vessel…if he wondered about her.

Ryn shoved the memories down; they had no purpose here, and she needed to focus on the task at hand. The runes she'd etched into the blade glowed faintly, but were already cooling. Finished, she rolled the katana's grip in her palm to inspect her work, and nodded in satisfaction.

She glanced up again at the dormant portal. "You sure your friend can handle this?"

"He's Bobby," Sam replied. "He can handle anything."

Ryn sincerely hoped that was true.

It was another half hour before something started to happen, a sliver of bright light streaming through a fissure in the air over the sandbox. Clouds billowed up from beneath it, and the angel on guard leaped to his feet.

"Showtime," Dean said, and exited the car. Ryn and Sam followed quickly. They had only a few seconds' window here.

Ryn slung the katana's sheath over her shoulder and bolted into a run toward the portal as it grew wider.

Drawing his angel blade, Dean charged straight for the guard. "Go, go!"

Ryn sprinted faster and took a flying leap through the portal. For a split instant, every nerve ending tingled with energy as she was carried through the ethereal current. But then it spit her right back out, and Ryn rolled into a crouch on a polished floor, eyes darting around for threats.

The brightly lit hallway was empty save for a rugged looking man in a baseball cap. Ryn recognized it as the one Sam had used in the seance. Bobby was gaping at her, but before she could say anything, Sam came sliding through the blazing doorway.

Bobby glanced down at the younger Winchester. "Welcome to the party." He held out a hand and gripped Sam's arm, hauling him to his feet.

Sam looked a little stunned from the trip, but the moment he met his friend's eyes, all of that faded away. "Bobby," he breathed, and threw his arms around the older man.

Bobby patted Sam's back, then pushed him away. "God, it's good to see you in the flesh, son, but we ain't exactly got time here."

True; Ryn could hear a distant alarm echoing from somewhere.

Sam's expression pinched with regret, but he pulled himself together. "This is Ryn."

Bobby gave her a simple nod. "Nice to meet ya."

"You too."

The hunter turned back to Sam. "I think I found the jail cells. I mean, I can't say for sure, but there was this long corridor that dead-ended at a door with some heavy duty locks on it. So either that's jail or a treasure trove."

A muscle in Sam's cheek ticked with anxiety. "Show us."

Bobby led the way down several corridors, identical in their stark sterility and shiny walls. Only the plaques on the doors differentiated them. Ryn found Heaven to be quite…cold and uninviting.

They found the door Bobby had described, a huge, thick slab of metal with several locks fastened up and down one side. Ryn strode forward and flipped them open, then pushed the door inward with a grating creak.

Heaven's jail looked like a pristine dungeon, with wide stone arches over the iron-barred cells. They passed a few that were empty before stopping in front of one that wasn't, and Ryn was finally able to put a face to one of the angels that had taken everything from the one she cared about.

Metatron was a scraggly looking being, with a mop of curly hair and full beard. He was sitting on the cell's stone bench, hands interlocked around one knee drawn up to his chest. The angel was smirking.

"Well, howdy, fellas. And gal. I gotta say, this is unorthodox even for you."

Bobby turned to Sam. "This is the Scribe of God?" he asked, voice dripping with disbelieving disdain. "He looks like a Fraggle."

"I'm gonna take that as a compliment," the smarmy angel replied. "That was an excellent program."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Metatron, we're here—"

"I know why you're here," he interrupted, losing the smirk. "And I'm not interested. I told you I would rather _die_ than let Dean Winchester use me as his personal punching bag again."

Sam exchanged a look with Ryn; turned out it was good Dean hadn't come along.

"Don't worry," the Winchester assured him. "Dean doesn't have the Mark anymore."

Ryn stepped up to the bars. "In fact, you're gonna be my punching bag."

Metatron's brows rose skeptically, but then his gaze sharpened on her. Ryn knew when he'd recognized her nature by his mouth dropping open for a split second before he recovered his composure.

"Ah. You boys were much more clever than I gave you credit for. You found a source." He frowned, and glanced at Sam. "But then why would you be here now?"

Sam drew his shoulders back. "You want to find out? You come quietly."

Metatron hummed. "Interesting. Keys are over there." He nodded to a hook on the wall behind them.

Sam turned, but hesitated. Ryn understood there was history with Metatron, but they'd come all this way, and she was not leaving without their only option to save Castiel. Even though the short time she'd spent around the Scribe already made her want to wipe that smirk off his face.

Metatron spread his arms out to the sides. "Chop chop!"

Bobby angled away from the angel and lowered his voice. "Are you sure this is the only way?"

The line of Sam's mouth was grim. "Unfortunately." He went to retrieve the key.

Metatron reclined back in his cell, grinning widely. "Whatever might the Alpha phoenix be doing teaming up with the Winchesters, I wonder?" he mused out loud.

Ryn noticed Bobby stiffen and shoot Sam an accusing look, which the Winchester ignored as he unlocked the cell.

"Sam," the older hunter growled under his breath.

"It's cool, Bobby," he replied. "We got this."

The man just shook his head while Metatron bounded over to the unlocked door.

"This is gonna be fun," the Scribe practically tee-heed.

Sam snapped a pair of angelic cuffs over the bastard. "Shut up." Then he grabbed Metatron by the back of his jacket and shoved him toward the exit.

The alarms seemed louder now, and they glanced up and down the hallways to make sure the coast was clear.

Sam turned to Bobby. "We can make our way out from here. You should get back before they notice you're part of this."

"I can take care of myself," Bobby huffed.

"I know," Sam said, eyes softening. He clapped the hunter on the shoulder. "Thanks again. For everything."

Bobby's mouth quirked sadly. "Any time, son. But…let's not do this again too soon."

"This way," Ryn hissed. At the moment their path was clear, but there were too many angels flitting about the place that Ryn's senses wouldn't be able to give them much warning when one was around the bend.

They parted ways with Bobby, and even though the hunter had shown typical prejudice against Ryn, she didn't hold it against him. They'd gotten what they came for, after all.

The return trip through the portal was less disorienting when one wasn't taking a running leap through it. They stepped through the door into blinding light, followed by smoke billowing up around them. In the next instant, the glare and fog receded, depositing them back on earth in the playground.

Dean was waiting for them, looking worried. Ryn noted the angel guard was gone and there were two angel banishing sigils on the ground, one charred from having already been used, the next ready if needed. Blood was trickling through Dean's fingers, but the moment he saw them, he quickly pulled out a bandana and wrapped it around his palm.

"Ah, Dean," Metatron greeted, sounding anything but friendly. "Miss me?"

Dean smirked. "Like a hangnail."

As Sam pushed the Scribe out of the sandbox, Metatron inhaled deeply through his nose.

"Oh, smell that? That smells like freedom." Sighing far too contentedly for one who was the prisoner here, he started forward a step. "Well, let's go. I call shotgun!"

Sam yanked him back by his collar and slammed him against one of the kid climbing apparatuses. "You don't get to make demands, Metatron. You're not in charge here."

"Oh, I'm afraid I am," the angel seethed. "I see 'Asstiel' isn't around. So that must mean what you need from me is his grace, which I do have. Which means _I_ make the rules." He chuckled. "It's called leverage, boys. Learn it, live it, love it."

Sam looked to Dean, who nodded. Ryn was so going to enjoy this…

The younger Winchester grabbed a fistful of Metatron's hair and wrenched his head back. Stepping forward, Ryn drew her katana, and with one swift slice, slit the angel's throat. His guttural gasps turned soundless as brilliant blue light glowed from the cut. Sam held a little glass jar up to it, and Ryn watched in fascination as his grace, his very essence, trickled down into the container.

She leaned down toward Metatron's ear. "This is what you did to Castiel."

And there were not enough punishments in earth or Heaven to compensate for it.

But this came pretty damn close.

Metatron was making gurgling noises in his throat, so Ryn placed a hand over the wound. Fire coursed into her palm, and then Metatron was screaming as she cauterized the laceration. That also gave her a sense of satisfaction, though she reluctantly infused some healing into the process. Her fire was regenerating, after all. It wouldn't fully mend the cut, but Ryn felt this sleaze deserved to have a scar in remembrance.

The moment she stepped out of the way, Dean raised a gun and shot Metatron in the leg. The Scribe let out a howl of pain and fell to the ground. Grunting in agony, he struggled to get up and clutch his bleeding thigh.

"We have your grace, Metatron," Dean said, smugly triumphant. "You're mortal now. So you will answer our questions, or I am going to blow your frickin' brains out. It's called leverage, Metatron."

"Learn it, live it, love it," Sam repeated. "Now where's Cas's grace?"

Metatron had lost all cockiness now, his face twisted in pain and shock. "I- I don't know," he stuttered pitifully.

Dean raised the gun and aimed it at his head.

The Scribe threw up his cuffed hands. "No, no, no!" he bleated. "Okay, okay. I'll take you to it."

Dean slowly lowered the weapon. "You screw with us, and I will make our last bonding session seem like the peewee league."

Ryn crouched down in front of the sniveling angel, who gaped back at her with nervous, dilated pupils. "As will I."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you hadn't noticed, yet more lines from 10x17 "Inside Man" were in this chapter. It's been fun rewriting this episode. And I will never, ever get tired of Metatron losing his grace and Sam shooting him. Though in this version I thought I'd give Dean the pleasure.


	6. Chapter 6

 

_Whenever Castiel went to visit Aderyn now, he took Nahshon as a vessel, and it opened up a whole new world of experiences_. With physical hands, Castiel was able to help with simple, menial tasks that before he had only observed: picking berries, washing garments in the river, milking a goat. The last one had been troublesome, and his least favorite. For some reason, the goat had refused to hold still for him. The attempt had made Aderyn laugh, though, which in turn had dampened some of his own frustration and embarrassment. He liked seeing her smile like that.

He flew to her home, landing just outside as he always did. Aderyn had come to recognize the sound of wing beats, but this day she did not come out from the hut. Castiel spotted her water jug on the ground on its side, pieces of the clay broken off and water seeping into the dirt. He spun around.

"Aderyn?" Castiel strode toward the hut and looked inside; it was vacant. "Aderyn!"

There was no response. He returned to the spilled water and crouched down, touching the damp mud. It had yet to completely dry in the afternoon sun, which meant she had been here not long ago. His eyes narrowed on scuffs and smears in the surrounding dirt. At least two assailants had attacked and dragged her off, into the desert and away from the village.

Righteous fury erupted through Castiel, and he snapped his wings taut with a crackle of static. They couldn't have gone far.

He took to the ether, flying only a short distance before landing again and casting out his senses for Aderyn. They had spent so much time together that he had become acutely aware of her signature.

When he couldn't detect the subtle burn of her essence, he flapped his wings and leaped another few kilometers. It took a moment after landing, but his attuned senses picked up a flicker of dormant fire not far from there. Then he heard the distant, female shout.

Castiel bolted into a run through some dry copses, and found a mud brick house set in the middle, concealed from anyone outside. Sounds of a scuffle wafted past the reed mats covering the door and windows. With a massive beat of his wings, a violent gust of wind ripped those screens away, and Castiel stormed through the entrance.

He had no idea what he would find inside, though in the back of his mind he had known mere humans would not have gotten the best of a phoenix. No, four vampires, razor teeth bared, snarled at Castiel's arrival. Ryn was on the floor, her cheek red and swollen, blood beading at her split lip. She blinked dazedly up at him.

Rage boiled up in Castiel to a degree he had never experienced before. They would regret this.

The vampires overcame their stupefaction, and two stupidly surged forward to attack. Castiel grabbed their faces and slammed them down to the floor with quaking force that sent cracks through the hardened dirt. Summoning the righteous power of Heaven, he smote those vermin from the inside out, his palms glowing gold as their bodies writhed and thrashed before crumbling into dust.

Castiel narrowed his gaze on the remaining vampires. Renewed by his appearance, Ryn spun around on the floor and kicked out the kneecap of the vampire behind her. That left the other one for Castiel.

Growling, this vampire drew a sword from his belt, eyes manic with glee. Castiel was not impressed.

The vampire lunged and swung his blade, but Castiel threw his arm up and blocked with the strength of a mountain against a mild breeze. He ducked under the vampire's arm, twisting around and driving his elbow into the monster's smug face. Bone and cartilage crunched, and the vampire staggered back with a howl.

The brute lashed out again, but Castiel merely disappeared and reappeared behind him with a rustle of wings. Stepping forward, he gripped the vampire's wrist holding the sword, immobilizing it.

Aderyn's sharp cry of pain distracted him, and Castiel whipped his gaze toward her. Though she'd been delivering successful blows to the other vampire, it had somehow managed to get behind her, wrenching her arm back and sinking his teeth into her neck.

Castiel tossed his opponent into the wall, nearly breaking it, and took a step forward. Yet before he could intervene, the other vampire suddenly jerked back, eyes wide and mouth gaping as horrible choking noises gurgled in its throat. It staggered away from Aderyn, who dropped to the floor clutching her bleeding neck.

Castiel could only stare in bewilderment as tongues of fire burst forth from the vampire's mouth. The monster clawed at his throat and threw his head back in a scream as an inferno exploded from within, consuming him in a blaze of flames. Castiel looked down at Aderyn.

Her chest was heaving, but then her eyes widened and she gasped in warning, "Castiel!"

He only made a half turn before a sword was plunged into his chest, the tip of the blade tearing out the other end of fragile flesh and tissue. The last remaining vampire sneered at him in triumph.

Castiel looked down mildly at the blade buried to the hilt in his vessel's torso. The pain had been so brief, almost like a tickle of an insect. Reaching up to grip the handle, he slowly pulled the sword out. The vampire's eyes morphed from relish to fear. Honestly, what did they expect, taking on an angel of the Lord?

With one swift slice, Castiel deftly detached the vampire's head from its body. He dropped the sword to the ground with a clatter and rushed to Aderyn. She had slumped further toward the floor, blood seeping out between her fingers as she applied pressure to her neck. Castiel's stomach clenched, and he reached out two fingers to her forehead, only to realize that he would not be able to heal her as he could humans.

Aderyn gave him a wan smile of understanding. "I won't die from these wounds." She sniffed in disdain at the burned out corpse behind her. "These vermin should have known better than to drink fire."

"They knew who you were?" Castiel asked incredulously.

Aderyn nodded, drooping further. He scooped her into his arms and took flight, at least able to do that much. They landed inside her home, and Castiel gently set her down on her bed rug on the floor. Then he looked around for something to tend her wounds with. He had watched Aderyn work as a healer sometimes in the villages, and so knew the basics. First he needed water to clean the wounds…but the vampires had spilled it.

"I'll be right back," Castiel assured. He flew outside to retrieve the jug, then to the river where he was only able to fill it part way. And then he flew back to the hut, the entire trip taking less than a full minute.

He felt Aderyn's eyes tracking him as he grabbed a strip of cloth from a shelf, and then knelt down next to her.

"Let me see," he coaxed, gently prying her fingers away from the wound. The crimson stain was horrible, as were the jagged tears of skin. Castiel swallowed and slowly began wiping the wound clean. "The bleeding has stopped."

"The Alpha vampire's minions are strong," she said. "It will take some time, but I will recover."

Castiel frowned, taking in her bruised cheek and swollen lip. "Why did they attack you?"

Aderyn's eyes crinkled with sadness. "All monsters hate me. Did you know my ashes are poisonous to our Mother?" She waved a hand. "Never mind, I'm sure you do. When she created me, my fire burned her. I was…" Aderyn's mouth quirked wryly. "Pure, I suppose. Too pure for any of her tainted line to tolerate. Anyway, I was cast out, and every one of her other creations vowed to see my end."

Castiel rocked back. He had not known that about the Mother of All, as she had been banished to Purgatory by the archangels before most of the lower class angels had been created.

He lapsed into contemplative silence as he continued to clean the bite. If the phoenix was pure, as Aderyn said, did that really make her of the same ilk as other monsters? They certainly didn't count her as one of their own. And, Castiel had come to know Aderyn, and he knew she was far from evil.

His gentle ministrations gradually slowed, the hand he'd been bracing her head with now drifting to cup it tenderly. He brushed his thumb down her cheek. She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch.

"You are the first friend I have ever truly had," she murmured, "whom I did not have to hide from."

Castiel felt a pang in his heart for this woman, this kind-hearted and beautiful creature who wanted nothing more than to live in his father's beautiful world, and perhaps belong to it.

He brushed a strand of hair from her eyes, lightly caressing her brow. "I will always be your friend," he whispered.

The shroud of twilight eventually fell over the sky, and the cicadas took up their evening song. Aderyn drifted off to sleep, but Castiel did not leave. He sat by her side, watching the blemishes from the fight slowly fade as the stars above rotated along their celestial sphere. Castiel ghosted a tendril of his grace along her cheek, marveling at the inner fire that stirred in response. _She was not made of stardust; she was something far more exquisite_.

* * *

Ryn frowned at the darkened library windows, the 'd' in the neon 'Closed' sign buzzing as a few of the bulbs struggled on their last leg. This was the location Metatron had directed them to.

"Oh, come on," Dean scowled. "You expect us to believe that you hid Cas's grace in a library?"

"Nobody goes to libraries anymore," the Scribe replied, voice still strained from the pain of his cauterized throat. "It's the safest place in the world."

Dean shrugged at that, and pushed Metatron forward. Sam's long strides brought him to the entrance first where he pulled out a set of lock picks and began fiddling with the door. It was an old, small town library that didn't even have an alarm system. After a few minutes, the lock clicked and the door creaked open. The four of them slipped inside.

"Alright, where?" Dean asked.

"Downstairs," Metatron grunted. "In the stacks."

Ryn spotted a sign hanging from the ceiling that had an arrow pointing to the stairwell, and led the way toward it. It wasn't difficult for her to navigate in the dark, but she heard a few stumbles from the humans—especially from the gimpy ex-angel. When she reached the lower level, she flicked on the light switches on a wall panel.

Something flickered in the back of her mind's eye, like the faint whisper of a simmering candle flame. "I can sense Castiel's grace." She turned in a slow circle. "It's here, but hidden somehow."

Dean dragged Metatron the rest of the way down the steps and gave him a rough shake. "Where is it?"

Metatron sighed. "Honestly, I have no idea."

Dean grabbed the Scribe by his shirt front and pushed him into a chair, ignoring his pained yelps as the movement jarred his leg. Then the Winchester clamped his hand around Metatron's bandaged thigh and squeezed, eliciting several more high-pitched cries.

"I warned you not to screw with us. Where is it!"

Metatron howled and thrashed against the hunter's vice-like grip. "Gah, I don't know, I swear! I had another angel hide it, even from me."

Dean's gaze darkened, and he tightened his grip further.

Metatron screamed again through gritted teeth. "You know," he ground out, cheeks puffing red. "In case someone tries to torture the information out of me!" He writhed some more in the chair. "Case in point!"

Ryn stepped forward, her palm glowing bright orange. "Where is the grace?"

The Scribe flicked one glance at her and sagged in defeat. "I told the angel…" He heaved out a labored breath. "To hide some clues in some of my favorite books."

Ryn regarded Metatron intently for a long moment before she lowered her burning hand. She couldn't tell if he was messing with them or not. He seemed unaccustomed to the level of mortal pain he was currently experiencing, which was a strong motivator. But from what Ryn had heard about him, he wasn't to be trusted, ever.

Metatron huffed in apparent exhaustion, and held up his handcuffed wrists. "Mother may I?"

Dean exchanged a wary look with Sam, but nevertheless produced the key and took the restraints off. It wasn't as though the ex-angel could run in his condition.

Dean grabbed Metatron by his jacket and hauled him to his feet, then gave him a light push toward the stacks. He and Sam followed closely as the Scribe limped his way over to an aisle, while Ryn came around the opposite end, just to be on guard for anything.

Metatron pulled out a book, which Sam promptly snatched from his hands to open himself. There was a note tucked between the pages.

"'What is the maddest thing a man can do?'" he read, brow scrunching up. "It's a riddle?"

Dean snorted. "What is this, the Hardy Boys?"

"Hey!" Metatron protested, sounding affronted. "This is a little more sophisticated than that."

"Then what's the answer?" Sam demanded.

Metatron shook his head. "Beats me. I've only been a man a day."

"And you're not gonna reach tomorrow you keep this up," Dean growled.

Metatron waved his hand in a gesture to buy time. "Um, the- the answer to the riddle will lead to another book. And inside that book, you'll find Castiel's grace."

The Winchesters both rolled their eyes, clearly losing patience with the Scribe. Ryn wasn't far behind. She'd left the katana in the Impala, but was thinking of retrieving it. And while she had a fondness for libraries herself, she would tear this place apart if she had to.

Metatron clucked his tongue in hasty assurance. "Now, now, we're gonna work this out together, okay?" He turned to scan the other shelves. "Teamwork."

Sam shook his head, and pulled out his cell phone. "I'll just run an Internet search on the riddle."

Metatron sighed. "And that's why no one comes to libraries anymore," he lamented, continuing to peruse the bookshelves. "Speaking of teamwork, I still don't get why the Alpha phoenix is bothering to help the Winchesters save one pathetic, worthless angel. Who's barely an angel at this point."

"You shut your mouth," Dean warned.

"What? It's true! And we all know that Castiel has always been just a tool to you boys. Well, hate to break it to you, but your trusty hammer is broken beyond repair."

"That's not what Cas is to us," Sam retorted.

Metatron let out an exasperated sigh. "Puh-leeze. I've read the _Supernatural_ books. Pulp fiction at its lowest, but hey, it was good research to figure out how you guys operate. I'm honestly surprised you're going to so much trouble for Castiel, since you never have before."

Ryn watched the Winchester brothers exchange heavy looks, and she had to admit that the versions of events she'd heard did not always paint an inspiring picture. But she had also witnessed the level of loyalty and devotion those two had for Castiel, and that was what she'd chosen to trust. Plus, Castiel obviously cared for the Winchesters a great deal. That had to mean something.

"And you!" Metatron barreled on, gesturing at Ryn. "Why _are_ you helping the three people who were responsible for the last known phoenix death in 1861?"

Ryn furrowed her brow. "What?" 1861 was before the Winchesters were born, and before angels were taking vessels on earth…so why were Sam and Dean suddenly glancing at each other nervously?

The corner of Metatron's mouth curved upward in a sly smirk as he casually moseyed into the other side of the aisle. "I take it you haven't read Carver Edlund's work? That was just a pseudonym. The actual author was a prophet who chronicled the Winchester lives like it was gospel." Metatron paused, eyes glinting knowingly through the gap in the shelves. "There's a particularly fascinating tale where Castiel sends the Hardy Boys here back in time to kill a phoenix."

Ryn turned toward the Winchesters. It sounded too ludicrous to be true, yet by the guilty expressions on their faces, she knew it had to be. "You killed a phoenix," she said bluntly, because even that was difficult to comprehend. Her kind were not easy to take down, at least not by human hunters.

Sam held up his palms. "We can explain."

"It was the only way to defeat Eve, the Mother of All," Dean put in. "A phoenix's ashes are—"

"Poisonous to her, I know," Ryn snapped. Her pulse was quickening. Eve had been out of Purgatory? When? Of course, Ryn wouldn't have known; the Mother wouldn't have called to her like she probably did her other offspring.

Dean took a cautious step forward. "It wasn't Cas's idea to send us back in time. It was ours, and we made him do it." His expression pinched with realization and regret. "We demanded he do a lot of stuff for us back then."

Ryn's eyes narrowed. Castiel had helped them hunt and kill a phoenix…but he hadn't known her, had no recollection that he had once befriended the Alpha.

"Look," Sam continued, pleadingly. "We thought Elias Finch was a monster. We didn't- didn't know it wasn't so black and white."

"But he was off on a murder spree when we caught up to him," Dean pressed. "So he wasn't exactly innocent."

Ryn was cycling through several emotions at the moment as the Winchesters tried to explain themselves. They had killed one of her few descendants. The fact that she didn't know this Elias Finch personally mattered little, for he was the son of another phoenix…perhaps even of Ryn's own child, whom she hadn't seen in three thousand years. Edan had grown bitter by the life they were forced to have, and eventually went his own way. Ryn had vowed never to condemn another child to this lonely, hunted existence. Edan, apparently, had not felt such restraint.

But he was also dead. Ryn had felt his passing centuries ago when it reverberated through her like a shockwave that had left her on her knees for a solid hour in the middle of a frost-covered forest.

That made at least two of her line dead. For all she knew, she was the last and only again. And Elias's ashes had been used to send Eve back to Purgatory, thereby increasing the hatred every monster kind had for Ryn by tenfold. Had there been a time when the attacks had increased? She couldn't quite remember at the moment.

Another thought struck with crippling force. What if it had been her? What if Castiel had tracked her down, without remembering who she was, and led the Winchesters to her instead? She could not speak for Elias Finch, but Ryn was no stranger to fighting for her life. She would not have made it easy on these mere mortals, and could have taken the life of one of them in turn. And Castiel… That did not bear thinking upon.

"We get that you're probably pissed," Sam was saying. "But think of Cas."

Ryn's anger flared, and she felt her inner fire spring forth into her eyes with blazing fury. The Winchesters recoiled a few steps, but rather than unleash the torrent on them, she spun sharply and strode around the bookcases. Ryn grabbed Metatron's wrist—right before he could activate the blood sigils he'd been quietly painting on the shelf this whole time. She slammed her other hand over the second to last rune, burning through the blood and down to the wood, nullifying its potential power.

"Ah, that's uh," Metatron stammered.

Ryn wrenched his wrist back until it snapped, and he howled in pain. Then she shoved him up against the shelving unit and pressed her arm across his throat, cutting his cries down to choked gurgles.

"They said you were manipulative."

He sputtered, cheeks puffing red. "Can you…blame a guy for…agh, trying?"

Sam and Dean had come around from the other aisle and were staring in combination of horror and fury at the blood runes.

"You son-of-a-bitch," the older Winchester growled.

"Heh, worked for Iago."

Ryn pressed her arm tighter into Metatron's jugular. "You lack originality. And Iago got caught."

He sighed. "Alright, alright. It won't happen again."

"You're right, it won't." Ryn felt the fires within crackle and surge, and she leveled a fiery gaze at the Scribe. "Dean warned you. I warned you. And I've come to see that the other angels were right as well—you are too dangerous to be let loose."

His face scrunched up in confusion for a split second before his eyes blew wide and he struggled against her, but his now mortal shell was nothing more than a sapling in her grip. Fire coursed through Ryn's veins, suffusing an ethereal halo of power and energy around her.

She lifted a blazing hand toward Metatron's terrified face. Flames ignited along her skin and instantly leaped onto the ex-angel. He thrashed and howled, but Ryn held fast. The fire didn't bother her. She kept Metatron pinned as the flames consumed him in a matter of moments, until nothing but ash and bone dust crumbled to the floor.

Ryn stepped back. Metatron would never hurt another living being again, and, more importantly, would never again have a chance to hurt Castiel.

Sam and Dean gaped at her in stunned disbelief and a glimmer of horror, and they flinched when she looked their way, almost as though expecting her to fry them next. Yes, Ryn was still fuming, but she would not give Metatron the satisfaction.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she huffed. "Castiel wouldn't appreciate it."

That did not seem to reassure them, though Dean finally stammered to get his voice back.

"What the hell…we needed him to find Cas's grace!"

"No, we didn't." Ryn marched past the Winchesters, both of them pressing themselves up against the shelves to avoid her. She slowed when she came to the 'C' section, and scanned the spines. "Metatron's a fan of books. The riddle,'What's the maddest thing a man can do?' It's a quote from Miguel Cervantes."

Ryn finally spotted what she was looking for, and pulled _Don Quixote_ off the shelf. "'Let himself die,'" she finished quietly as she opened the book. Inside was a tiny glass vial containing the smallest amount of shimmering, bluish-white light. There were also traces of indigo, azure, and silver that Ryn would recognize anywhere.

She closed her hand around the vial, tucking it close to her chest, and turned to the Winchesters. "Let's get this back to Castiel."

Before it was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning part of the library scene had lines from the episode 10x18.


	7. Chapter 7

 

_The following years grew tense as the political climate in Egypt shifted._ Moses, now a grown man, killed a citizen and fled into the wilderness. Castiel and his garrison were sent to follow, though he still found time to sneak away and visit Aderyn. Then everything changed when Moses returned, demanding Pharaoh let the Israelites go.

One of Castiel's superiors, an angel far higher ranking than him, delivered the rod touched by God to Aaron, Moses's brother. Castiel's garrison was on high alert, and he could not break away unnoticed to check on Aderyn and how she was dealing with the plagues inflicted upon the land of Egypt. Turning the Nile to blood and making it undrinkable was just the first, but Castiel knew there was a small spring near Aderyn's home that she could draw water from, as long as it hadn't also been affected.

When the sixth plague of boils struck, Castiel imagined Aderyn to be out among the people, treating their sores where she was able. But still he could not leave. Everything was poised on the edge of a knife, as though a single wing beat would push them all over the precipice.

And then the order came. Castiel stood rigidly among his rank, struggling to process what they had just been told. The final plague was upon Egypt—every firstborn, from Pharaoh's own to the last slave, to even the cattle, would die. Only the Israelite homes marked in lamb's blood would be passed over.

"Tonight we show them the power of the almighty God," Anna said, addressing her soldiers. She withdrew her angel blade, jaw firm, expression stoic. Only a sliver of uneasiness flickered in her unyielding gaze. "Slay every firstborn in the land."

Castiel's heart clenched, and he wanted to ask how they could do this. How could God display his power in such a brutal, horrific manner? But no one else was questioning their orders, and Castiel knew better than to speak out against them. Still…as the garrison descended toward earth, Castiel remembered with a pang how he'd watched Aderyn play with some of these very children they'd been commanded to slaughter this night. She, along with all of Egypt, would mourn for them.

A zing of horror shot through Castiel. Aderyn. She was a firstborn. And an offspring of Eve, the Mother of monsters. Should she be spotted, none in his garrison would hesitate to kill on sight. Castiel had to warn her.

As the angels dispersed over the land, Castiel split off from his assigned course and flew to Aderyn's house instead. She wasn't there. Castiel's heart nearly seized. She was probably in the villages right now, tending to those still sick from previous plagues.

Castiel took wing again, desperately casting out his senses for the thrum of her essence. He saw his fellow bands of celestial wavelengths slipping in and out of houses with silent purpose, the stench of blood filling the air as it had when the Nile turned red. Full circle.

A glimmer caught in his peripheral vision, one he almost missed as it was concealed inside a hut. Castiel banked sharply and appeared inside, heedless of his true form harming those who lived there. But the single woman occupant was asleep on a floor mat, skin glistening with fever. Aderyn had apparently been keeping watch, but she leaped to her feet at Castiel's appearance.

"Castiel, what are you—"

"You must leave," he interrupted. "The angels are slaughtering every firstborn in Egypt. If they find you…"

Her eyes widened, and she made a move toward the door, but stopped and cast a helpless glance back at the old woman she'd been tending.

"Aderyn, there's no time," he pressed, his grace fluctuating in agitation. He had not been able to take his vessel, and so he could not fly her out of here. She'd have to make a run for it. " _Please_."

She jolted out of her indecision and hurried to the door, glancing outside to make sure it was clear.

Castiel swept past her. "This way."

They wove through the streets and around closely constructed houses. Castiel pulled up short at a young boy's body lying naked across a threshold, a jug of water tipped over near his head. A slave, but Castiel still felt sick upon seeing him.

Aderyn darted to the corner and craned her neck back to scan the sky. The night was dark with a thick cloud cover, bursts of angelic grace suffusing through here and there like refracted lightning.

"So many…" she whispered in horror.

Castiel wished he could stop it, he truly did. But nothing would hold back the floodgates of Heaven's wrath now. Castiel could only hope to save one life here tonight.

"Follow me," he said, and led the way across a wide patch of road with no cover. Aderyn moved with graceful silence, keeping to the shadows as much as possible.

"Castiel," a deep, baritone voice called out. "What are you doing?"

Castiel froze, shoulders going rigid as Uriel stepped into his path ahead. He threw a terrified look over his shoulder, only to find Aderyn gone. He whipped back around to face the other angel.

Uriel's stern expression deepened. "That door does not have lamb's blood on it," he said with reprimand.

Castiel was too afraid to speak, and he slowly turned his head toward the house he was standing outside of.

Uriel scowled. "See to it, Castiel." With that, he took wing and flew off to slay more children.

Castiel nearly collapsed from terror, so when he heard a slight shifting of dirt, he spun around with his angel blade raised. Aderyn stepped out from a darkened cranny. He lowered his weapon with a shuddering breath. "We must hurry."

Aderyn glanced at the house that hadn't been marked with lamb's blood. "Castiel, if you disobey…"

He gritted his teeth. "I will complete my mission before the night is over." Now, though, he cared more about her safety than his own.

They continued to make their way through the villages and down toward the river, stopping once they reached the shore.

"You must retake your original form," Castiel told her. It was the only way she would outrun the garrison.

Aderyn hesitated, her eyes wide and full of too many emotions for Castiel to identify. She took a step closer to him and reached out, only for her hand to slide through his like sand through a sieve. Her face pinched with regret and longing.

"Castiel…" She fumbled over her words.

Castiel opened his mouth to say everything he, too, wanted to convey, but there was no time. And so he forced himself to step back, to square his shoulders with a soldier's resolve.

"Go," he urged.

Aderyn's amber eyes glistened with moisture, but she nevertheless backed up to the edge of the water. Her gaze never left his as flames crackled at her feet, tongues of fire snaking their way up her legs and around her torso. Only when the flames engulfed her completely did Castiel's breath catch in his throat at the loss of eye contact, as though something between them had snapped.

Bands of fire arched up and out in great wingspans, and a bird's long neck emerged from the flames. With a pop, the fire winked out, leaving a brilliant red bird hovering in the air. Aderyn let out a screech, and then twisted away to fly off across the river.

Castiel tracked her form until she disappeared into the distance, and then he forced himself to turn back to the villages. Heart clenching in anguish, he took flight toward the livestock, taking his time to slay the firstborn cattle. And so by the time he slit the last calf's throat, he could see his garrison reconvening on a nearby hilltop. It was done, then.

Castiel flapped his wings and joined them. Several of his fellow soldiers looked upon the silent land with somber miens as the sun began to rise in the east. A few others, like Uriel, held their heads up with pride. Castiel only felt crippling sadness and loss.

A flutter of wingbeats alerted them to company, and they turned to find Anna's superior, Zachariah, and two other angels. The seraph looked as though he were seething, and his gaze roved over the garrison before narrowing on Castiel.

"You." Zachariah took a menacing step forward. "Sentinels spotted a phoenix fleeing the area. You were the closest, so why did you not give pursuit?"

Castiel stiffened, and a hush fell over the angels as all heads turned toward him. "I…sh—it is not an inhabitant of the land," he stuttered. "I thought it better to fulfill orders by targeting those who belong here."

His heart cringed at his own words, but he forced himself to speak levelly and without emotion.

"You _thought it better_?" Zachariah repeated. "Did you fail to notice it was _the_ Alpha phoenix? A firstborn by no clearer definition."

Castiel's throat tightened, and he held himself perfectly still under the seraph's scrutiny.

A scoff from Uriel shattered the tense silence. "Targeting those who belong here? I saw you, Castiel. You slaughtered nothing but cattle." The angel's lip curled upward. "Did our orders not seem _important_ enough to you?"

" _Uriel_!" Anna snapped, and the lower ranking angel at least had the decency to lower his gaze.

Zachariah, however, skewered Castiel with a sharp look. "Is this true?"

"But…they were children…" he tried to explain.

The seraph threw his arms up in exasperation. "Your behavior is negligent at best, Castiel." He nodded to the two angels who had accompanied him. "That earns you a trip back to Heaven."

Anna stepped forward. "I will handle the discipline of my garrison."

Zachariah sneered at her. "Your discipline is ineffective. Bring him."

The two angels seized Castiel by the arms. He threw Anna an anxious look, but she did not speak out on his behalf again. Her eyes were pained with regret before she ducked her gaze.

Castiel felt the instinct to struggle, but he called upon all his training to hold still with what dignity he had. A great wailing began to ring out across the land just as he was yanked off the earthly plane and back to Heaven.

He reappeared in a white room with a single reclined chair, and an angel he had never seen before. She pursed her mouth at him disapprovingly.

"Again, Castiel? What have you done this time?"

This time?

He flicked an uncertain gaze around the sterile walls, and at his emotionless brothers holding him in a vice-like grip. "I followed orders," he said desperately, a flicker of irrational fear bubbling up inside him. He didn't like this place.

The female angel sighed. "Not completely, no." She waved her hand, and the two angel guards dragged Castiel to the chair where they strapped him down with frigid steel cuffs.

"What are you doing?" He struggled against the restraints, heart palpitating wildly in his chest. What was going on? He _hadn't_ disobeyed, he hadn't!

The angel in charge lifted what looked like a metal ice pick, attached by a cable to some equipment. "Hold still, Castiel. Let's see if we can't make something useful out of you."

He thrashed in the chair as she loomed closer, angling the device down toward his eye. Castiel begged and pleaded until she began to drill. _And then his bloodcurdling screams echoed off the walls as this unnamed angel bored into his brain and began to dismantle him._

* * *

Dean kept flicking nervous glances in the rearview mirror as he sped the Impala back to the bunker. Ryn had been absolutely quiet since the library, the glow from Cas's grace in her hands casting a faint halo over her brooding expression. Dean looked at his brother, equally tense in the front passenger seat. Everything sure had gone to shit back there, from Metatron spilling the beans about Elias Finch, to Ryn going pyromaniac on his ass. Though, since they'd gotten Cas's grace back, Dean wasn't regretting the douchebag's death all that much. Or at all.

But there was the matter of the volatile volcano simmering in the backseat. Dean could still see the image of Ryn, wreathed in flames, her eyes blazing like an inferno as she watched Metatron burn to the ground. It had been terrifying, and reminded Dean of all the reasons they should call her a monster.

But, she'd done it to protect Cas, that much Dean was still sure of. And she still seemed intent on helping them save the angel. As for what came after…Dean had no idea.

Sam cleared his throat tentatively. "Listen, Ryn, about what Metatron said…"

Dean shot his brother a sharp glare, warning him to drop it until later. But Sam just gave an exasperated look in return, and shifted in his seat to peer over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Sam continued. "For your loss."

Ryn let out a low, derisive snort. "For my loss? You have no idea what I've lost over the ages."

Dean's fingers tightened around the steering wheel. _Dammit, Sammy, don't piss her off_.

"You're right, I don't," Sam said gently. "Cas disappeared, and you had no idea what happened to him. And Elias Finch was your—"

"I didn't know Elias," she interrupted.

Dean frowned, glancing in the rearview mirror again. "You didn't? Wasn't he your son?"

"My son is dead," she said, tone deadened. "And if Elias was his offspring, I never knew. Edan hated our life, always being on the run from other monsters. He wanted to shore up power to protect ourselves." Ryn's mouth twisted bitterly. "Of course, that meant subjugating the humans we lived among. I disagreed, so he left. All I know after that was the Alpha werewolf and his pack caught and killed him a couple thousand years later."

Silence filled the car for a long moment, save for the rumble of the engine. Dean was actually kinda relieved; that meant they hadn't killed someone Ryn knew and cared about, so she shouldn't be furious with them. But she was definitely upset about something. Maybe just hearing about Elias's death brought up bad memories.

"Well then, I'm still sorry for your loss," Sam finally said.

Ryn shook her head, gazing morosely out the window. "I am the first and last of my kind, alone in every sense of the word."

Dean exchanged another look with Sam, trying to imagine what that must be like. Ryn had told Dean that all other monsters born of Eve hated the phoenix, because her purity or something made her poisonous to the Mother of All. And then for her own son to turn his back on her…and for Cas to forget her, even if it wasn't his fault. Dean had experienced loss before, but when the person was still alive and out there somewhere…that was a whole different kind of pain. At least he and Sam always made their way back to each other. So did Cas.

And as strange as it was for Dean to acknowledge, it seemed like Ryn needed Cas as much as he needed her.

"You know," Dean said around a hoarse throat. "Family doesn't end—or always begin—with blood."

Ryn finally faced forward, meeting his gaze in the mirror. Light from Cas's grace set her eyes alight with blue flames that looked more like tears than blazing vengeance. Three years ago Dean would have called her a monster, John Winchester's training demanding he kill her without a second thought. Six years ago he'd thought the same about an angel who walked into a barn and declared that he'd raised Dean from Perdition.

Not to say there weren't monsters in the world. But maybe it wasn't so cut and dry. After all, there was a little bit of monster in all of them.

Ryn didn't say anything more, and the rest of the drive home was filled with contemplative silence.

When they finally pulled into the bunker's garage, Dean couldn't turn the engine off fast enough. All three of them were out of the car in an instant, ignoring their gear and heading straight for the door, the vial with Cas's grace cupped protectively in Ryn's hands.

They moved with unified purpose, down the stairs and into the corridor leading to the dormitory. Dean reached Cas's room first, and his heart leaped into his throat. Cas was jerking on the bed in some kind of seizure, with blood streaming out from under his eyes.

"Cas!" Dean surged forward and reached to grasp one of Cas's flailing arms. Sam hurried to the other side to help. "Ryn, do it now!"

She was already moving before Dean could finish shouting. Wedging herself between Sam and the wall, Ryn uncapped the vial and planted one hand on Cas's forehead, forcing his head down as she tipped the container against his lips. The sloshing grace spilled out, and for a second Dean was terrified that it wouldn't take.

But the grace slipped down Cas's throat, and a moment later his chest started to glow a brilliant gold. Dean held his breath as the light grew brighter, nearly blinding him. Cas's eyes shot open, pupils blazing like celestial blue orbs, and he shot upright with such force that both Dean and Sam were knocked back a step.

Dean threw a hand up to shield his eyes, squinting against the glare. He froze when he spotted what looked like shadows splayed across the headboard and walls. They…were nothing like the wings Dean had seen all those years ago in that barn. Cas's wings were mostly bare bone now, a few feathers hanging on here and there—though one detached and drifted to the floor as the wings arched in response to their restoration.

Dean was stunned. Why were Cas's wings broken? They'd just found his grace! That was supposed to fix everything.

He caught sight of Ryn reaching a hand up to cover her mouth, but then the light began to fade, and as the supernova dissipated, Cas started to collapse backward onto the bed again. Ryn stepped in and quickly caught his head, easing him down the rest of the way.

Cas's eyes widened as he gaped unblinkingly at her, and Dean suddenly remembered that last the angel knew, she'd been dead for good.

"Ryn's alive," he rushed to explain. "She came back to life not long after you cast the spell."

"You used to be more patient than that, Castiel," Ryn lightly chided, giving him a small, relieved smile.

Cas continued to stare at her in stupefaction, to the point Dean started to worry there'd been some kind of damage from that stupid spell. But then Cas opened his mouth and breathed out in barely a whisper,

"I remember you."

Before anyone could respond, the angel pushed himself up with a surge of energy and took Ryn's face in his hands, pressing his mouth to hers.

Dean's brows shot upward, and he sputtered in disbelief. Sam was also looking slack-jawed, and perhaps a little impressed. Until the kiss went on for several seconds, and then Sam's cheeks were pinking and they both were fidgeting before the two finally broke apart. Dean didn't want to think how long two beings who probably didn't need oxygen could go at it for.

Ryn's mouth moved soundlessly as she blinked, equally stunned. "I can't believe it took you five thousand years to do that."

Cas gazed up at her with something like wonder. "It feels like yesterday to me."

Dean cleared his throat obtrusively. "Um, so you're good, Cas? You got your grace back."

Cas finally tore his gaze away from Ryn to look at the Winchesters, but his expression of awe and gratitude was no less earnest. "Yes, Dean, Sam. I have no idea how you managed it, but I'm…well again."

Dean could tell that was a partial truth. He had seen Cas's wings, but that was a conversation that could be saved for another time. Right now, all that mattered was Cas wasn't dying. And if the angel wanted to celebrate his restored health with a make-out session, well, Cas certainly deserved it.

Dean started backing out of the room. "Okay, Sam and I are just gonna…"

"Yeah," Sam echoed quickly, also beating a hasty retreat. "Glad you're better, Cas," he called from the doorway before disappearing.

Dean followed his brother out, though he cast one last look over his shoulder. Cas was still slumped sideways on the bed with Ryn kneeling down next to him and carding one hand through his hair. Her other hand was intwined with Cas's, holding tight as though afraid to ever let go again.

Dean shut the door as quietly as possible. This was a good thing for Cas.

But it also meant that things were gonna change.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who gave this fic a shot despite the OC and the romance. I'm still blown away people liked it so much.

 

Sam made his way through the bunker hall and into the kitchen. He was feeling such immense relief that he wanted to pop open a beer to celebrate. Cas was okay. Dean was okay. Nobody died—permanently—and there was no big threat hanging over the world. For once in their lives, everything was just _good_.

He grabbed two beers from the fridge and passed one to Dean, who had followed him out of Cas's room. The sight of the angel kissing Ryn still made Sam's mouth quirk in amusement. Cas was no virgin, but the Winchesters should probably sit him down for a few pointers…and, ugh, some ground rules about what not to do in the bunker. At least not when Sam and Dean were home.

Sam popped the cap off his beer and took a seat at the kitchen table. "Looks like Cas liked what he remembered. He was worried about that." Sam was intensely curious about everything that happened in Egypt, but he could wait before bringing it up with the angel. Cas and Ryn obviously needed some time to get reacquainted.

"Hm," Dean mumbled, taking a slow sip of his own beer.

"Dude, come on. Cas is fine. We're all fine."

Dean pulled out a chair and plopped into it. "Yeah, and now that Cas got his memories back, he'll probably take off with Ryn. Go…settle down or something."

Sam lifted his brows incredulously. "Really? You seriously see Cas settling down, ever?"

Dean shrugged. "He did it once, after the Leviathan."

"Okay, but that time he had _full_ amnesia." Sam shook his head in exasperation. What was up with his brother?

Then it hit him. "You don't want Cas to leave," he said in understanding.

Dean knocked back a swig of beer. "He can do whatever he wants. And it's not like I've ever given him reason to stick around before."

Sam sighed. Neither of them had done a great job with that in the past. He still remembered Cas's utter surprise when Dean had shown the angel that he had his own room in the bunker.

"Cas knows better now," Sam said. "And, you know…" He gave his brother a pointed look. "It's not like Ryn has to be unwelcome around here. You really have a problem with them coming as a package deal? Because I actually don't."

Yeah, it would change the dynamics, and they'd obviously have to make some adjustments. But Sam hadn't seen Cas look that happy in…well, shit, a really long time. Maybe _ever_. Cas deserved someone like Ryn.

Dean slowly rotated his bottle between his fingers. "No, I don't have a problem with that. She might, though."

Sam slumped in his seat. Way for his brother to bring down the mood. "Dean," he said gently. "Even if Cas does leave to be with her, it's not like it'll be goodbye forever."

"I don't know, Sam, wasn't that what you'd wanted when you went off to Stanford?"

Sam blinked at his brother. Dean was bringing up _that_? Sam's first gut reaction was to angrily point out that he'd been trying to have a normal life, that he was running away from Dad and his screwed up hunting lifestyle, _not_ Dean…

He forced himself to take a calming breath. They didn't need to rehash all that. Besides, Sam's leaving wasn't the heart of the issue here; the issue was Dean's perception of being abandoned. That was always the issue.

Sam set his beer aside and folded his arms across the table. "We've always tried to live all-or-nothing—all in with hunting, or all in with the apple pie life. Never something in between. But maybe it's not impossible, Dean, to have both. And hey, it's not like Cas is gonna go off and have a wife and house with a white picket fence. He's an angel and she's a phoenix for crying out loud."

Dean grunted. "They could, if they wanted. You never know."

Sam rolled his eyes. He sincerely doubted that, but let the point go. "Talk to him, then. Ask him what he wants." Sam grabbed his beer and stood up. "Because you're right; if you don't tell Cas flat out that he's still always welcome here, he might assume he's expected to leave."

Sam left his brother to contemplate that parting note, and hoped Dean would get over himself long enough to actually have that conversation with Cas. But if he didn't, Sam would. Because he'd worked too hard to keep his family together, and he was not letting their emotional constipation ruin all that.

* * *

Castiel couldn't stop staring at Ryn, couldn't stop reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, lightly tracing her jawline, running his hand down her arm. She was both tangible and a ghost, and he was still feeling too overwhelmed to fully process everything.

All those memories…all those _years_. Naomi had taken so much from him, from both of them.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, stroking her face. "I'm so sorry."

Ryn captured his hand in hers. "It wasn't your fault."

"What you must have thought of me when I showed up outside your cabin," he said, heart clenching with remorse first, and then loosening as he marveled, "and yet you still helped."

She gave him a small smile. "Always, Castiel. Though, I have to say, your growing propensity for recklessness is becoming a disconcerting pattern."

He could easily make the argument that he had always been reckless—sneaking away from his post to cultivate a friendship with an Alpha, risking disobedience in order to save her. Apparently there were some things Naomi couldn't alter, no matter how hard she'd tried.

"It has always been worth it."

Ryn huffed out an exasperated sigh, but her eyes were tender. "Well, it is nice to finally be remembered." She got up off the floor and took a seat on the edge of the mattress.

Castiel pushed himself up to lean against the headboard. He felt stiff and achy, and he turned his gaze inward for a moment, focusing on the other aspect he could hardly believe in all this.

"How did you get my original grace back? Only Metatron knew…" Castiel trailed off at Ryn's sober expression. His heart stuttered, and he bolted upright. "What did Sam and Dean do?"

"Proved beyond a shadow of doubt how much they care for you," she replied calmly. "And _we_ snuck into Heaven and broke Metatron out."

Castiel gaped at her. "You didn't." No, no, no, this was not what he wanted. "Metatron is too dangerous. He can't be trusted—"

"He's dead."

Castiel blinked. "What?"

Ryn regarded him in all seriousness. "Metatron is dead. I killed him."

Castiel slowly sank back against the headboard, too stunned to continue holding himself up. He had spared Metatron before, when the angels had dethroned the Scribe. Many had advocated his swift execution, but Castiel had petitioned for mercy instead of judgement. It had been the right decision; Castiel had wanted the violence between angels to end.

But…that wasn't to say it still didn't get under Castiel's skin that the Scribe was still alive. After everything Metatron had done, the atrocities he'd committed—including killing Dean and turning him into a demon—those things still haunted Castiel. To know, once and for all, that the Scribe was no longer a threat, well, that did bring him some sense of relief.

"You and the Winchesters…broke into Heaven?" he repeated.

Ryn's mouth quirked before turning sober again. "That's a story for another time. How's the state of your grace?"

Castiel opened his mouth to respond that he was fine, but hesitated. The pointed look she was giving him confirmed that he couldn't lie to her; she could see past it.

"It's…damaged."

Ryn nodded slowly, waiting for him to continue, letting him be the one to put it into words.

"When Metatron cut out my grace and used it for the spell," he began. "I thought it was gone forever. The spell was irreversible, as you know. The grace that was leftover…" Castiel sighed. "It's enough that I am no longer dying, but…I will never be restored to what I was."

Ryn gazed at him with sadness. "I saw your wings."

Castiel's throat constricted. He was ashamed she had to see that. Sam and Dean had probably seen the shadows, too, which were no less horrific than the actual sight. Brittle bone and raw flesh, kinked feathers…where there was plumage at all.

"I lost my wings in the fall," he said quietly, "and came to terms with it then."

Ryn was silent for a moment. "They looked broken."

He rolled his shoulder, the pain in his wings distant when they were slightly detached, incorporeal on the ethereal plane.

"Castiel," she prompted. "I'll be gentle."

A lump swelled in his throat. He did not want to do this…and yet he could not deny that Ryn was right; the wings needed tending or their state would only decline.

"There is no fixing them," he said under his breath.

"That's no reason to endure the pain," she responded.

Castiel let out a shuddering breath, and pushed himself up to lean forward. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on manifesting his wings on the physical plane. Bringing them over was nearly excruciating as joints grated and cold air wafted over exposed gashes. Castiel fisted his hands in the bedsheets and gritted his teeth to keep from making a sound.

The mattress dipped as Ryn moved, and a second later soothing warmth suffused into one of the wounds like a balm. Castiel felt his muscles relax, and he finally opened his eyes. Though he couldn't see what Ryn was doing, he felt the tendrils of her fire ghosting over his wings, not hot enough to burn, but enough to purify some of the putrid wounds and ease the ache in the joints. Castiel sank into her touch.

"Thank you," he murmured.

She didn't speak while she worked, gradually moving from the base of his shoulder blades and down to the tip of each wing. Once finished, Castiel was able to return them to the ethereal plane without any pain.

Ryn scooted around the edge of the bed to face him again. "So, what do we do now?"

Castiel's mouth turned down. That, he did not know.

* * *

Dean knew Sam was right, that he needed to talk to Cas before they had any more misunderstandings between them. Because Dean did have a crappy track record with that. But he just didn't _do_ chick flick moments. So despite knowing his brother had a point, Dean still went to hide out in the garage and tinker on one of the Men of Letters' classic automobiles.

The problem with taking refuge in his typical spot was that people knew where to find him. Dean glanced up from the engine block as the door creaked open and Cas stepped into the garage.

"Hey, man," Dean greeted nonchalantly. "You feeling better?"

"Yes," Cas replied, coming over and sweeping his gaze over the 1932 Lincoln KB V12. "Ryn told me what you did for me. I don't know whether to thank you or tell you how foolish you all were."

Dean snorted. "Trust me, you always say thank you to the girlfriend."

Cas lifted eyes heavy with emotion to meet his. "I am grateful, Dean."

He nodded, but then waved it off. "You've done the same for me."

Cas shifted his weight in apparent discomfort, and Dean braced himself for what he'd been expecting.

"I need to go retrieve my car from Ohio."

Dean blinked. "Oh, right. You need a ride?"

A muscle in Cas's jaw ticked. "Um, actually, Ryn was going to accompany me. We…need some time to discuss…things."

Dean slowly frowned. "Dude, that sounds like the beginnings of a break-up speech. What happened in the short time of you getting your memories back and now?"

Cas kept fidgeting. "Nothing. It's just…those memories…it was a long time ago. Things are different now."

"Yeah, for one thing you're not gonna get dragged back to Heaven for hanging with a phoenix."

"There are other things to consider," Cas argued.

Dean set his tools aside. "Like what? There's no Apocalypse looming, no potentially world-ending evil running around."

"At the moment."

Dean shot his friend a dry look. "Yeah, well, _at the moment_ , you've got no ties, nothing holding you back."

Cas's eyes crinkled at that, and Dean's stomach clenched. Right, he was doing it again.

"I mean there's nothing holding you back from seeing where things go with Ryn. Hell, start with just simple dates if it makes you feel better. How far away does she live from here?"

Cas tilted his head in confusion. "She has a cabin in Montana."

Oh. That wasn't a quick drive, but it wasn't the _longest_. Too bad Cas couldn't zap to and fro anymore.

Dean reached up to rub the back of his neck. "Uh, okay. If you want to take things slow with her, you can drive up for a weekend visit. Or she could come down here for a weekend."

Cas squinted in that telltale way of his that meant he was trying to decode what Dean was actually saying. "Here?"

"'Course. She's welcome to visit you. If, you know, you wanted to stay." Dean swallowed. "But if you wanted to leave, go off with Ryn…I understand."

"Oh," Cas said softly, gaze dropping to the floor. His brow pinched as conflicted emotion played across his face.

Dean's heart constricted with sympathy. "It's okay," he said. "It's okay to want that, Cas."

Cas swallowed hard. "I'm an angel, Dean. I'm not supposed to want any of those things."

Dean gave him a wan smile, and reached out to clasp his shoulder. "I know you're an angel, but you're also more than that. You've spent time as a human, you've thrown out all the rules—for good and bad," he added with a humorous smirk.

Castiel's mouth turned down.

Dean shook his head. "But seriously, man. This…" He gestured vaguely toward the bunker and wherever Ryn was inside. "That's something even humans are lucky to find in their lifetimes."

Cas averted his gaze and lowered his tone. "I- I don't deserve—"

"Yes, you do," Dean said with a vehemence that seemed to startle the angel. He gave Cas's shoulder a tighter squeeze. "We've all made mistakes, Cas. And Ryn knows about them, but they don't matter to her. She loves you. Trust me when I say don't run away from that."

"So, you're telling me to go?" Cas asked hesitantly.

Dean's gut twisted. That wasn't what he was saying at all…but it struck him then how unsure Cas was. Dean had seen him like this a few times before, where he'd turned to Dean in times of doubt and asked for guidance. Cas had run off on his own so many times, Dean usually thought of the angel as his own stubborn entity. But every time Cas acted in defiance of something or someone, it was because he thought he was doing the right thing—to help others. He never once truly acted selfishly.

Dean sighed. "I'm not gonna give you an order here, Cas. You gotta do what's right for _you_. But know that me and Sam will always be there for you. And your room will be here, anytime you need—or _want_ —it."

Cas's expression relaxed into one of relief. "Thank you, Dean. No matter…what we decide, know that I will always come when you and Sam call."

"You'd better come by even when we don't call," Dean said, reaching out to clap him on the shoulder.

The corner of Cas's mouth quirked upward. "Alright. I'd like that." He hesitated. "And…this will always be…home, for me."

Dean smiled. Home, family, those weren't bound by location anyway. Never had been. The important thing was Cas knew he always had them here, with the Winchesters. And he always would.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first wrote this, I'd decided to leave it up in the air for people to have their own head canon about what happens between Cas and Ryn, just because I wasn't sure whether people would want them to stay together or not. I'm now getting the sense that is what most of you want, hehe. And hey, maybe someday I'll continue this verse. Someone had mentioned Charlie showing up since she was still alive, and I'm suddenly finding the idea of her and Ryn hanging out rather amusing. ^_^
> 
> I'm really excited for my next story, "The Hellhound Games," which is going to feature some major whump all around. *g* See you Monday!


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